Message Received
by hellosweetie17
Summary: Summary: Late for work, Chuuya collides with a stranger on the sidewalk. A stranger who happens to be annoying, frustrating, flirtatious, and even worse—gorgeous. Thanks to a tricky sleight of hand, their encounter leads to Chuuya texting the wrong number.
1. Chapter 1

He was late. And knowing that his umbrella was leaning against the wall next to his apartment's front door, Nakahara Chuuya was beyond pissed off. And not to mention, wet.

Caught beneath the sudden, albeit predicted, Monday morning rain shower, a fedora-clad Chuuya ducked his head and sped down the sidewalk toward the bookstore. He weaved amongst the crowd, dodging small puddles as he barreled past fellow passersby; a slew of barely audible apologies fell from his lips each time he bumped into an unsuspecting commuter. Yet, in spite of the frequent collisions, the redhead continued onward at a rapid pace.

Once he traveled along numerous street blocks—which were crowded with those who appeared to have nothing else better to do than to get in his way—Chuuya chanced a peek from beneath the brim of his hat. The side of his mouth twitched upward; one corner and two blocks left to go. He was mere footsteps away from turning onto a new street when his slender shoulder firmly smacked against another body. The powerful impact sent him swiveling on his heel. Nakahara toppled over, landing on the cold pavement with a hard thud.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, slapping his black-gloved palms on the slick cement. After taking a moment to collect himself, the redhead pushed himself up from the sidewalk. He leaned down and began to wipe one hand against his pants while the other held his fedora in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of dark, brown shoes shift into his peripheral vision.

"I'm sorry," came, in what Chuuya believed to be, an eerily chipper voice. "I didn't see you there."

The young man's head snapped up as the person standing in front of him simultaneously bent downward—thereby, dealing his ego a severe blow—until they stood eye-to-eye. His own blue ones were seething when they connected with warm browns that were glimmering with delight. They blinked innocently beneath the man's damp, dark hair. Chuuya watched as a Cheshire Cat-like grin lit up the other's already cheerful expression.

"You really should watch where you're going," he admonished Chuuya with a 'tsk' and a slow shake of his head. "You could hurt yourself."

Then, without warning, he playfully tapped his finger against the redhead's nose; the action was followed by a 'boop' sound popping from his lips.

"But I'll forgive you," he offered with a dazzling smile. "Because you're so small and too cute!~"

Chuuya's jaw dropped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he scoffed, fisting his hands at his sides. A fierce scowl etched itself between his furrowed brows, his stare burning beneath his red tresses. " _You're_ the one who pushed me over!"

"My, my, my!" the brunet gasped, his gaze widening with admiration. Nakahara could practically see stars and sparkles bursting behind the other's eyes. "You're even more adorable when you're mad!" he cooed.

Searing steam hissed from Chuuya's pink-tinged ears. "N-no, I'm not!" he stuttered.

"Oh, yes you are~"

Snarling, the shorter of the two grinded his teeth together. He clenched his already white-knuckled fists—he was going to knock the jerk's lights out. And when another happy-go-lucky smirk flashed before his eyes, Chuuya decided a roundhouse kick to face sounded like a good idea, too.

However, before he even had the chance to move a muscle, the brunet took a small step back. Chuuya observed as he lifted a closed umbrella from behind his back and pressed the metal button, thus releasing the clear, plastic shield above their heads. The rain melodically pelted against the covering.

"That's better, hmm?" hummed the taller man.

Chuuya cocked an eyebrow. "Why weren't you using it to begin with?"

The other shrugged. Placing his chin between his thumb and outstretched forefinger, he began to rub it in a calculating manner, all the while leering up and down Chuuya's petite frame. He made a thoughtful noise.

Fidgeting, Chuuya squirmed beneath the appreciation dancing in the brunet's eyes. A bright blush blossomed on his skin, cascading from one cheek and over the bridge of his nose to the other. It pissed him off.

"What?" he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. He furiously tapped his foot.

"Nothing," the man responded.

The tooth-rottingly sweet smile directed his way told Chuuya that the man was up to no good. It was time to go before he did, indeed, start throwing punches; he wasn't in the mood for jail at this time in the morning.

"I'm outta here," he muttered, dropping his arms.

"Hello, 'outta here'. I'm Dazai Osamu."

Chuuya huffed. "You're such an ass." Without another word, he ambled out from under the umbrella's protection. Thankfully, the rain had eased up. He strolled toward the intersection, then turned onto a new street before proceeding down the block.

"Aw, don't be like that!" came the exceedingly loud, pathetic whine amidst the sounds of traffic splashing through puddles and pedestrian chatter.

The redhead glanced over his shoulder to find Dazai merrily (and too close for comfort) skipping after him, twirling the umbrella above his head; droplets of cool water spun from its edges.

Grumbling, Chuuya opened his mouth to call out a "fuck you," but it was interrupted when someone, who was apparently in too much of a hurry to care, slammed into him; he tipped backward. He didn't hit the chilled pavement, though. Instead, he fell against another body that quickly curled its arm around his waist. He looked down at the limb wrapped in white bandages before staring up at the smirking face above him. Chuuya desired nothing more than to die at that moment.

"Already falling into my arms, are we? How forward of you, chibi!" remarked Dazai. "I'm flattered that someone as cute as you would do such a thing."

Chuuya's cheeks scorched to a fiery red; the color flooded its way down his neck. "W-what are you t-talking about?!" he sputtered.

Dazai tilted his head to the side, his brown hair falling across his forehead. He grinned. "I think I've found something to live another day for, that's what."

Practically at death's door, Nakahara struggled out of the other's grasp. After straightening his clothes, he twisted around and glared up at the taller man. "Has anyone ever told you you're a crazy bastard?"

Dazai Osamu tapped his chin. "Kunikida-kun calls me a maniac. And lazy."

"He's right."

"So cruel," pouted Dazai, placing a hand over his broken heart. "But still so cute~"

"If you don't go away, I'll kill you myself."

"I didn't know you were such a good person!"

Chuuya sneered. "I'm late for work."

Instantaneously, Dazai was mere inches from his face; the motion caught the redhead off guard. A victorious and confident smile appeared, and Chuuya knew his face was sizzling; he briefly wondered if the heat was singeing his wavy hair. Unsurprisingly, the situation resulted in him bristling and gnashing his teeth. He wouldn't be surprised if he were frothing at the mouth, too.

Twirling the umbrella in one hand, Dazai lifted the other's index finger and tapped Nakahara on his upturned nose. "Boop," he said, emphasizing the 'p' with a pop of his lips.

He needed to leave before he clocked the waste of bandages upside the head and put him in a coma upon impact. "Bye," announced Chuuya. He put his back to Dazai, then up a light pace toward the bookstore.

"I'll see you later, chibi."

Over his petite shoulder, he waved Dazai's words away with a backward swish of his hand. "I doubt it."

"So mean!"

"Keel over!"

"Yet, so wonderful~" marveled the brunet in a sing-song voice.

Chuuya hurried down the sidewalk, leaving behind a laugh bubbling with evil and awe. Betrayed, he unwillingly flushed at the sound. He hated himself for it.

The day had barely started, and he already wanted to crawl into bed with a glass of wine. And if he were lucky, die.

Regardless, he continued onward to the shop. His journey was delayed, yet again, when he made it to a crosswalk. Chuuya peered up at the pole; the little man in the box was red. He huffed.

With no choice but to wait, he dug into the pocket of his black trousers and pulled out his phone. He looked at the time—it was 9:20 A.M.

"Tch, bastard."

Using one hand, he typed in his passcode and unlocked it. With the other, he retrieved a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket; scribbled on it was Akutagawa Ryuunosuke's new cell phone number. Thanks to a certain blonde (Higuchi Ichiyou), Chuuya was typing in digits that were unusually neat, seeing as he could barely read his co-worker's handwriting the majority of the time. He fleetingly wondered how that managed to occur. Akutagawa was obsessed with calligraphy, after all. Nonetheless, he paid the oddity no mind. The kid may have, for once, been in a good mood when he wrote it down. That was a rarity in and of itself.

 **[9:24 A.M]** Akutagawa, it's Chuuya. I'm gonna be late. Some asshole ran into me and wouldn't leave me alone.

He paused, then added another quick note.

 **[9:24 A.M]** Save my number this time, eh?

He hit 'send'.

* * *

Carrying a white paper bag full of honey fig scones, a dryer Chuuya strolled toward Port Mori's Bookstore. He stepped up to its entrance and opened the door; the bell hanging above it chimed.

Akutagawa, who was sitting at his spot behind the counter, half-heartedly flipped through the book sitting before him, his chin cradled in the palm of his hand as he scowled at nothing in particular. Chuuya could already tell that the kid was in an exceedingly bad mood. Great.

"You're late," he commented, not bothering to look up at the redhead approaching him.

Chuuya tossed the packaged breakfast cakes onto the counter as he rounded its corner. "Your favorite scones," he spoke. He went to the coat rack and shrugged off his coat. "And I sent you a text saying I'd be late."

Akutagawa tilted his head and reached for his phone. He tapped on the screen. "You must've texted the wrong number," he stated with a disinterested shrug of his shoulder. Pushing his book aside, he replaced it with the bakery bag and opened it. Along with the napkins tucked inside of it, he pulled out a fruit-infused scone.

"That annoying, little delivery boy called before you got here."

Chuuya paused and put a hand on his hip. "Atsushi-kun?"

"Yes, him. He said he'll be here Wednesday instead of Thursday." Akutagawa swiveled in this chair. He regarded Chuuya with an almost bored expression. "Did you lose your hat?"

Frowning, Chuuya blindly reached for his fedora; his palm was met by silky red tresses. His confused demeanor was abruptly transformed into a pissed off clench-of-the-teeth when it dawned on him.

 _That bastard!_

* * *

Yawning, Chuuya ambled into his modest apartment with a small bottle of moscato in hand. He gently kicked the door closed and set his purchase on the small table next to the entrance. He secured the lock with a click, and tossed his keys into the small dish settled on top of the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuuya saw his dreaded umbrella. The item had managed to maintain its original place: propped up against the wall next to the door—right where he had left it. He glowered and nearly hissed at the umbrella, shamelessly flipping it the bird. The thing deserved it.

Chuuya took off his black coat and swung it over the knob to the left of the entryway, allowing it to hang freely. He reached for his fedora, but remembered the waste of bandages who had bashed into him (and sent him tumbling to the ground) earlier in the day had stolen his prized possession. Nakahara made a mental note to track Dazai down and throw him in a river. After he rescued his hat, of course.

With a sigh, he kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. He set the bottle of wine down on the small round table, then retrieved a stemless glass. After taking a few sips and thus, having to refill it, Chuuya took the alcohol into his bedroom. He walked over to his nightstand and turned on the lamp, then set the glass on its surface. Stretching, he unceremoniously flopped backward onto the plush mattress; its springs bounced back in rebellion. The young man ran a hand across his forehead. He yawned.

Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated against his slender leg. Chuuya sat up, and tilting to the side, he scooped it out of his pants pocket. He reached for his wine and just as he was taking a sip, he looked at the bright screen. The poor soul nearly spit out his drink; he choked on it instead.

 **[8:13 P.M #]** _I'm clueless as to who this Akutagawa is, but something tells me I should be jealous._

Hacking away, Chuuya let his arm drop against his thigh; the phone toggled in his loose grip. He covered his mouth with his other hand. Once his throat was alcohol-free, he cleared it. The redhead inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it through the corner of his mouth; the rush of air blew his hair from his eyes.

 **[8:18 P.M]** I thought I was texting a friend. Sorry for bothering you.

At least he managed to politely apologize, considering the overall mood the day had put him in—which he was still enduring, if his short-tempered scowl had any say in the matter.

Chuuya darkened the screen and tossed the phone onto his pillow. He made a move to push himself off the bed, but the soft sound of his phone buzzing caught his ear. Nakahara picked it up.

 **[8:25 P.M #]** _It's alright. I looove late night messages from mysterious people!_

 **[8:26 P.M]** Go away.

 **[8:26 P.M #]** _Awww._

 **[8:27 P.M #]** _But Chuuya texted me first!_

What little was left of his short fuse ignited. The corner of his lips curled in annoyance.

 **[8:29 P.M]** I've had a long day and you're pissing me off even more than I already am. Forget this number.

 **[8:30 P.M #]** (╥_╥) _You told me to save your number._

Chuuya clicked his teeth.

 **[8:33 P.M]** Has anyone told you not to talk to strangers?

 **[8:33 P.M #]** _Then why is Chuuya replying?_

Seeing as he had nothing better to say, he typed a simple:

 **[8:34 P.M]** Fuck you.

The reply was swift.

 **[8:34 P.M #]** _You'd like that wouldn't you?_ (⌒.−)

Chuuya clutched his phone, his knuckles cracking beneath the pressure. He was tempted to throw it against the wall out of pure exhaustion and frustration. But he refrained from doing so; he preferred to spend money on wine and hats versus a new phone.

 **[8:36 P.M]** You're creepy and gross. I'm blocking your ass.

 **[8:36 P.M #]** _Something tells me you won't. Even if you do, you'll text me eventually._

 **[8:37 P.M]** And why the hell would I wanna talk to you?

 **[8:39 P.M #]** _Easy. You'll miss me too much._

Apparently, today was the day for assholes—first Dazai, and now this jerk.

The redhead sighed. He exchanged his phone for the nearly empty glass of moscato. Chuuya drained the last of it, then made his way into the kitchen to put it by the sink. He'd wash it in the morning.

After a long, hot shower, Nakahara finally crawled into bed. He laid on his side and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. Much to his drowsy dismay, his phone vibrated against the wooden surface of the nightstand.

 **[10:11 P.M #]** _Sweet dreams, Chuuya._

Chuuya rolled his eyes. He yanked the comforter as far up as it would go and ducked his head beneath it.

Before he fell asleep, Chuuya mentally crossed his fingers, praying that the day had simply been a case of bad luck and it would end there.

He was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm on his phone blared to life, enthusiastically vibrating on his wooden nightstand. Yawning, Chuuya lifted his head from the pillow and blindly reached over for it. He immediately hit the 'snooze' button. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back onto the pillow, his red hair cascading across his forehead. Chuuya was on the precipice of enjoying another fifteen minutes of sleep when his cell phone vibrated multiple times in a row; the sound resonated through his skull.

"What the fuck?" he grunted. He snatched it up and cracked open a blue eye. Squinting against its brightness, Chuuya stared at the screen. He clenched his teeth.

 **[6:50 A.M #]** _Chuuya!_

 **[6:50 A.M #]** _Chuuya!_

 **[6:50 A.M #]** _Wake up, Ch-u-u-ya!_

 **[6:51 A.M #]** (￣▼￣)

Normally, he wasn't a morning person to begin with—grouchy and agitated beyond measure, even scaring the children in his apartment building if he were in a mood. But now, after seeing the notifications, his grumbly attitude instantly skyrocketed from cranky, to irritated, and finally onto murderous.

He unlocked his phone and brought up the text. Clicking on the mistaken case of identity number from the day before yesterday, he furiously began forming a reply. In the back of Nakahara's furious mind, he hoped his thumbs wouldn't crack the screen.

 **[6:53 A.M]** What do you want?

 **[6:53 AM #]** _Good morning!_

The redhead's knuckles cracked.

 **[6:55 A.M]** Why are you texting me? Didn't I tell you to fuck off?

 **[6:56 A.M #]** _You did tell me something along those lines, but I ignored it since I know you've been thinking about me._

Chuuya scoffed at the cell phone. Bastard. He gently tossed it onto the other side of the bed. And as if it were sensing his mood, it landed face down on the comforter.

With a groan, he threw his short legs over the mattress and pushed himself into a sitting position, his small feet dangling inches from the hardwood floor. Chuuya lifted his arms above his head and stretched, his spine loudly popping back into place. He dropped his arms, his palms slapping against his thighs.

Behind him, his phone screeched. The redhead sighed. He twisted around and stretched across the bed for it, then turned off the alarm. It was time for work.

* * *

The bell hanging above the storefront door chimed merrily as it was pushed open. The sound was followed by a pair of feet rushing toward the two co-workers busying about behind the counter.

"You're late," chided Akutagawa, who was tending to the coffee machine. He shot a dirty look at the boy approaching Chuuya. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

Softly panting, a blushing Atsushi skidded to a halt in front of Chuuya. He swiftly bowed.

"I'm sorry, Nakahara-san! Akutagawa-san!" he rushed out. "There's a lot of traffic today, so we're behind schedule."

Off to the side, Chuuya heard Akutagawa mutter a not-so-quiet, "Tch...pathetic." The harsh glare gleaming out of the corner of Atsushi's eye didn't escape unnoticed.

"It's alright, Atsushi-kun," replied Chuuya. "Just go around to the back door."

Fiddling with the end of his black belt, the boy straightened up. "Poe-san is already there unloading the boxes. We shouldn't be long!" promised Atsushi. He bowed again, then spun on his heel and scurried out of the front door.

Akutagawa poured fresh coffee beans into a grinder. He glanced at Chuuya over his shoulder with an annoyed expression. "You should call and request for someone who knows how to do their job and deliver on time."

Chuuya leaned against the counter, placing a hand on his hip. "You scared off the other employees from the company," he reminded the other with a smirk. "Besides Poe and Atsushi-kun, the only one who'll step foot in here is Higuchi-san."

"Fine," conceded Akutagawa. "They can stay." He slammed down on the appliance's cap, and began loudly mutilating the beans. After they were ground to a pulp, he pulled off the cap and dumped them into a clean filter.

"Did you find your horrific fedora?"

Huffing, Chuuya blew his hair from his forehead. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Akutagawa paused with a small, white coffee cup in his hand. He turned to face his fellow employee. "You have terrible taste in hats."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't. I think that bast—"

The bell tinkled, effectively cutting off his words. Both he and Akutagawa glanced at the door. Not only was he immediately pissed off, Chuuya wished he had a knife to whip across the room.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

Dazai slowly strolled toward the counter, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his beige coat. He whistled a chipper tune while he weaved between the small book displays in the center of the storefront until he was standing before Chuuya. He looked down at him, his eyes connecting with one's brimming with agitation.

"Shopping," he answered. "But seeing you here is a delightful bonus."

To his utter dismay, Chuuya's cheeks flooded with color. He crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. "Uh-huh...then go shop."

"What poor customer service!" exclaimed Dazai. Leaning down, he placed his elbow on the counter and peeked up at the other. He batted his eyelashes sweetly.

"Is there something you need, Dazai?" sniffed Chuuya.

"What's your name?"

"It's Nakahara Chuuya," supplied Akutagawa.

Said redhead twirled on his heel and seethed at Akutagawa, who gave him a "what?" look before going back to his duties. Chuuya glimpsed at Dazai, whose eyes were glittering with amusement and mischief. Turning around, he placed his back against the brunet and tapped his foot against the floor. He heard a sigh, then the telltale creak of movement. The silent prayer he had been muttering beneath his breath—begging for the bastard to leave and fall off of a cliff—was swept away when he felt Dazai lean toward him. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a soft rush of air blew against the shell of his ear.

"It's nice to meet you, Chuuya~" whispered Dazai, and he could practically hear the brunet's grin.

Glowering, Chuuya faced the growing perpetual thorn in his side; the back of his neck flushed at their close proximity. Nevertheless, he growled, "F-fuck o-ff."

"Nope!" chirped Dazai. He tapped the shorter man on the nose before straightening his posture. "I think I'll browse." And with that, he skipped off toward a display, leaving a red-faced and enraged Chuuya in his wake.

"Friend of yours?" questioned Akutagawa.

"Tch, no. I ran into him yesterday when I was on my way here."

"So, he's the reason why you keep knocking things over. Figures," sniffed Akutagawa.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only two things make you late and distract you: expensive wine and the men you have a thing for."

The brilliant scarlet suffusing Nakahara's cheeks drained into a ghastly shade of white. "What the hell did you say?" he sputtered, staring at the other with wide, horrified eyes.

"You like Dazai-san," repeated Akutagawa bluntly. "Or else you wouldn't be—"

"—I just met him! He's not—"

"—yoohoo!~" called Dazai. He pranced toward the register with a book tucked beneath his arm.

"What the fuck do you want now?" snapped Chuuya.

Placing a hand over his broken heart, Dazai gasped, "And here I thought Chuuya would be happy that I've returned to sweep him off his little feet!" He dropped the red book onto the counter with a loud thud. "I'd like to buy this and a coffee with cream and lots and lots of sugar."

Muttering curses beneath his breath, Chuuya picked up the book. He had to pick up his slack jaw after he read the cover— _A Complete Guide to Suicide_. Since when the hell did they start carrying these titles? And why was this fool buying it? He shrugged off Mori's twisted sense of humor and the brunet's disturbing choice in reading material and rang up the item.

"Here," said Akutagawa, slamming the ceramic cup in front of the beaming customer; the sickeningly sweet liquid sloshed against its sides.

"Here," echoed Chuuya, handing over the purchase.

"Eh? That was fast," acknowledged Dazai. "I hope you're not trying to get rid of me."

His non-committal reply came in the form of a huff and an outstretched palm. So, rather than pay, Dazai took Chuuya's hand and flipped it over. A slow grin spread across his face. "I think I'll start a tab," he decided. He brought the other's small hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss on his knuckles.

Then, after winking the most flirtatious of winks, the brunet scooped up his loot and walked over to the café tables and chairs at the front corner of the shop. Dazai plopped down in a seat. He set the book on the table and opened it, then began reading while taking the occasional sip of coffee.

Dumbfounded and sizzling with mortification, Chuuya watched Dazai flip through the book; he squealed every so often at its contents. And to Chuuya's unbridled horror, he found the sound to be much more alluring than necessary. He hated it.

"I'm gonna go unpack the boxes," said Chuuya, his stunned voice eerily robotic. Before the other had a chance to respond, he flew into the back room. On his way in, he swiped the boxcutter from the utility closet.

He ambled toward the stack of boxes piled next to the door and picked up one from the top, and placed it on the floor. He crouched down with the cutter in hand and began slicing open the top of the package. The swift movement proved to ease his frustration over the bastard who may, or may not be, somewhat attractive. The simple idea pissed him off.

Gritting his teeth, he imagined the tape sealing the box's side to be Dazai's gorgeous face; he gleefully destroyed it with a distorted smile. Chuuya popped up a flap and just when he was about to pull out a book, his phone buzzed. He reached into his trousers' pocket and removed the phone, pushing down on the home button. If he thought that his day couldn't get any worse after Dazai's arrival, he was wrong. He hated his life.

 **[12:14 P.M #]** _What's Chuuya up to?_

Against his better judgement (and blaming Dazai for the bad decision), Nakahara opened the text and began typing a reply.

 **[12:15 P.M]** I'm working and I don't need anyone else kissing me.

Before he could correct his mistake, he hit 'send' and a part of his soul died. His thumbs moved at Guinness World Record-breaking speed.

 **[12:15 P.M]** Pissing* I don't need anyone else PISSING me OFF*

 **[12:17 P.M #]** _Oo lala, so bold! You really should stop hitting on me. But...I don't mind it since it's you. Maybe we could arrange a kiss, hmm?_

"Oh, my god," murmured Chuuya.

 **[12:18 P.M]** I'm going to kill you.

 **[12:20 P.M #]** _I would've never guessed that Chuuya was so kind._

 **[12:21 P.M]** Go find something else to do.

 **[12:21 P.M #]** _But I rather bother you!_

 **[12:21 P.M]** I have enough shit to put up with.

 **[12:22 P.M #]** _But Chuuyyya—_

He could practically hear the whine.

 **[12:22 P.M #]** _—what am I supposed to do without you?!_

 **[12:23 P.M]** Why should I care?

 **[12:23 P.M #]** (つ﹏。)

At his wit's end, Chuuya groaned and threw whatever common sense he had left in the world out of the figurative window.

 **[12:26 P.M]** If you leave me alone, I'll text you after work.

He waited a few heartbeats for the three moving periods to waver in the text; there was silence. In spite of the reasoning behind the absent reply, he exhaled a pent up sigh of relief. It was better than nothing. Nakahara returned his cellphone to its rightful place, then began unpacking the boxes.

What felt to be hours later—which turned out to only be one—Chuuya found himself unfolding the last of the boxes in preparation for recycling. After placing the final one in the large container by the door, he begrudgingly trudged his way toward the storefront. When he stepped through the narrow doorway, his blue eyes zeroed in on the window.

"Dazai-san's still here," sighed Akutagawa.

As soon as the statement left the taller man's lips, Chuuya's glare connected with Dazai's angelic gaze. The brunet grinned innocently and wiggled his fingers at him with an overly dramatic wink. Chuuya, who was painfully blushing from the roots of his hair down to his tiny toes, considered vaulting over the counter and parkouring his way toward the café tables with the single goal of punching Dazai in the throat. Or at the very least, giving the bastard the finger.

And just when the redhead was about to flip Dazai the bird, the man scooted back the chair, its wooden legs scraping against the floor. Tucking the questionable book under one arm, he picked up the cup, then made his way over to Akutagawa. With a smile that was met with a disinterested look, he placed it on the counter and shuffled along until he stood in front of Chuuya.

Chuuya swallowed nervously, waiting for Dazai to open his mouth and say something annoying that would most likely leave him flustered. But rather than do so, the brunet stared down at him. It took every bone in his body not to squirm under the other's appraisal. He crossed his arms.

"What are you looking at?"

Dazai cocked his head to the side, his brown bangs falling into his eyes. A Cheshire smile curved his lips. In Chuuya's mind, the expression taunted: I know something you don't know.

"You," explained Dazai. Lifting his index finger, he leaned forward, and Chuuya, who was expecting another boop to his nose, was caught off guard when said digit touched his black choker; it slowly ran from one side of his neck to the other, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Chuuya nearly burst into flames. "G-go to hell, you p-prick," he stammered. Damn it.

"Only if you come with me~" insisted Dazai. Before the subject of his flirtations could complain, he magically whipped out the clothing accessory he had been holding behind his back and neatly settled it atop Chuuya's head—his stolen fedora. Then, he daintily tapped his nose.

"I'm sure I'll see you soon."

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Dazai turned around and headed toward the door. He opened it as soon as he was there, but paused. He glanced over his shoulder at Chuuya.

"And stay cute!" he commanded, gently closing the door behind him.

Off to his left, Chuuya heard the sound of wood scraping against wood. He listened as Akutagawa approached him, his heavy footsteps stomping on the floor.

"What just happened?" asked Chuuya, his voice embarrassingly breathless.

"I could care less," sighed Akutagawa. "But at least you have that embarrassing thing back."

Chuuya took off said fedora and held it in one hand, his arm dropping to his side. A soft rustle caught his ear and he looked downward; a piece of paper lay next to his foot. He bent over to get it, but Akutagawa beat him to the punch, and immediately opened it.

Rolling his eyes, Akutagawa flipped the scribbled side of the post-it at Nakahara, allowing him to read it.

Chuuya snatched the paper from Akutagawa's judgemental fingers and shoved it into his pocket.

* * *

Much to his disgruntled delight, Chuuya turned off the shop lights and went out the door; he locked it, then tugged on the handle for good measure. He stuffed the keys into his black jacket's pocket; he felt the cool metal of his phone brush against his fingers. The redhead sighed and pulled it out—he was a man true to his word, after all. Chuuya unlocked it and texted whoever was on the other end.

 **[6:15 P.M]** I'm done with work. Here's your text, Mackerel.

The device vibrated in his hand.

 **[6:15 P.M Mackerel]** _Who's this 'Mackerel' and should I be jealous of them, too?_

Exasperated, Chuuya shook his head.

 **[6:16 P.M]** You.

 **[6:17 P.M Mackerel]** _What a lovely nickname!_

 **[6:18 P.M]** Or would you prefer 'demon'?

 **[6:19 P.M Mackerel]** _Mackerel is fine. But if Chuuya's feeling feisty, I'll answer to the second._

Nakahara rolled his eyes and turned off his phone, then proceeded to stroll down the sidewalk in the direction of a small liquor store. During his journey, he sidestepped numerous pedestrians, who were, in his opinion, taking their sweet old time when it came to getting out of his way. After more bumps and 'excuse me's' he cared to endure, Chuuya stood at the curb; the shop was on the other side of the road.

Fortunately, he managed to quickly run in and out of the wine and spirits store, carrying out a brown paper bag concealing a rather pricey bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He headed over to another intersection and stopped at the pole with a little red man blinking in the box. While he waited to cross, his phone vied for his attention.

 **[6:51 P.M Mackerel]** _What does Chuuya have planned for this evening?_

 **[6:52 P.M]** If I tell you, will you finally leave me alone?

 **[6:52 P.M Mackerel]** _Probably not._

He sighed.

 **[6:53 P.M]** I bought wine and now I'm going home.

Chuuya waited for three dots to waver across the screen, but no such luck. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tucked his phone away. Suddenly—and unfortunately for him—the redhead heard an aggravatingly familiar laugh. He nearly threw a prize-winning uppercut to the jaw when he turned around and found Dazai standing before him.

"What a coincidence," said Dazai. "If I had known I'd be running into you, I would've worn something else."

Refusing to comment, Chuuya glared daggers at Dazai and his rapidly draining sanity. He would never admit it, but he believed the black suit and loosely knotted tie made the waste of bandages all the more attractive.

"Well," Chuuya began. Blushing, he pursed his lips. The color deepened as he watched a victorious grin light up the other's face. He scowled, clearing his throat.

"You're such an ass."

"What? It's your fault for being so adorable. Especially when you're getting flustered."

Chuuya wanted to smash Dazai over the head with his bottle of wine and shank him with the broken shards of glass.

"I hate you."

"That may be true," agreed the brunet, with a nod. "But I believe you'll change your mind eventually."

Flabbergasted, Nakahara sputtered. "S-stop saying things like that."

Dazai put one hand on his hip and using the other, he waved Chuuya's words away. "Where's the fun in that, hmm?" he countered. He flashed a bright and conspiratorial smirk. "Did you get my note?"

Chuuya hugged the paper bag to his side and began tapping his fingers against the encased bottle. "I did," he answered casually.

He rather fall into a black hole and be ripped to shreds than admit that he'd been thinking about it all day.

"And?"

"No, thanks."

"Aww," whined Dazai, hanging his head. "Must Chuuya be so mean?"

Nakahara shot him a sarcastic look. "I'm leaving." He turned around, and double checking that the coast was clear, walked across the street.

Behind him he heard Dazai shout, "I look forward to seeing you, Chuuya!"

He ducked his head, his cheeks burning.

"Bastard," he murmured.

* * *

It didn't take long for a freshly scrubbed Chuuya to span the distance between his bathroom and kitchen cupboards. He opened the one closest to the sink and popped up on his tiptoes, reaching for a wine glass. With it in hand, he went to the small wooden table and plopped down in a chair. He set the glass down, then opened the bottle with the corkscrew he snagged from the silverware drawer. Once it was open, he filled the long-stemmed glass one-third of the way full. Chuuya swirled the burgundy-colored alcohol before taking a small sip. He reveled in the bitter, yet sweet, taste as it traveled down his throat.

And two refills later, his cheeks were pink and tongue, loose.

Feeling bold, Chuuya grabbed his phone, which was sitting next to the wine bottle, and typed in his passcode. It was late, but—according to the small amount of alcohol whirlpooling in his stomach—he could care less in his tipsy state.

 **[10:45 P.M]** Awake?

Three small dots appeared. They were followed by a swift reply.

 **[10:46 P.M Mackerel]** _For you, I am._

"Hmph," hummed Chuuya. He took another sip of liquid courage.

 **[10:48 P.M]** Are you always like this?

 **[10:48 P.M Mackerel]** _Like what?_

 **[10:49 P.M]** An annoying bastard.

 **[10:49 P.M Mackerel]** _According to popular opinion, yes._

Chuuya set his phone down with a clatter. Tilting his head back, he emptied what little was left in the wine glass. He corked up the bottle, and took it and the used glass to the sink. He would deal with the items later. He went back to the table and scooped up his phone, then made his way into his bedroom. Chuuya walked to the bed and turned around before unceremoniously flopping onto the mattress. He didn't bother to turn on the lamp.

 **[11:01 P.M]** Tell me your name.

 **[11:02 P.M Mackerel]** _I thought it was Mackerel._

He glowered at the phone.

 **[11:02 P.M]** Demon.

 **[11:03 P.M Mackerel]** _Oo lala! Chuuya's feeling feisty~_

 **[11:03 P.M]** Tell me something.

 **[11:05 P.M Mackerel]** _Hmm._

 **[11:10 P.M Mackerel]** _Sake is nice. I like crabs… My favorite color is blue. I hate dogs. Cats are adorable, but not as adorable as you._

The alcohol-induced blush blossoming in his cheeks darkened into a impressive shade of scarlet.

 **[11:12 P.M]** You don't know what I look like.

 **[11:12 P.M Mackerel]** _I'm great at predicting things. You're cute._

 **[11:13 P.M]** You're pathetic.

 **[11:15 P.M Mackerel]** _That's probably true._

 **[11:15 P.M Mackerel]** _What do you like?_

 **[11:15 P.M]** Hats, wine, and music. The color red.

On and on the conversation went until Chuuya lost track of time; he didn't bother to check it. But during those hours, he managed to learn that the person (who turned out to be a guy) on the other end was downright annoying, a question dodger, an obnoxious flirt, and an expert on terrible dad jokes—Chuuya laughed at them all. Especially one in particular:

 **[12:33 A.M Mackerel]** _It looks like a train just went by. You can see its tracks._

Caught up in another fit of laughter and fuzzy from the wine, as well as the drowsiness muddling his senses, Chuuya typed without thought, then hit 'send'.

 **[2:24 A.M]** Are you single?

The redhead stared at the screen, dumbfounded and mortified—instantly sober. And while he waited for the three floating dots to be replaced by words, he briefly considered jumping out the window. But before he could do so, he received a reply.

 **[2:26 A.M Mackerel]** _Yes._

Closing his eyes, Chuuya groaned and slung his arm over his face. He took in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it in an effort to blow away his stupidity. His phone vibrated in his hand. He cracked open an eye and hesitantly peeked at the new message.

 **[2:32 A.M Mackerel]** _But I won't be if Chuuya decides to meet me._


	3. Chapter 3

Chuuya scowled at himself. And at the hand holding his phone. And at the curb he managed to stumble over when he stepped onto the sidewalk. And at the fact that he was acting like some sort of love struck woman. (Granted, he may have been mistaken as a girl once or twice, maybe even three times, but that wasn't the point.)

As he ambled down the pathway littered with brown leaves, Chuuya scrolled through the days worth of texting that spanned into the early morning hours; each late night ending with a 'sweet dreams, Chuuya'. He huffed at the joking, the teasing, and the flirting—which he wasn't particularly skilled in, and the guy never let him forget it—in search of the message he had received many days before; the words that were burned into his mind's eye, but haven't been mentioned since:

 _"I won't be if Chuuya decides to meet me."_

The redhead clicked his teeth together when his thumb finally settled next to the gray bubble; it displayed the idea that has been driving him up the wall. It didn't stop him from re-reading it, though, and the frustration behind it did make him want to punch something—or rather, someone. Particularly the one who has annoyed him since the day he was run over in the rain; the one who managed to work their way underneath his skin; the one whose aggravating smile caused butterflies to flutter in his stomach; the one who was always on his mind and determined to stay there. Between Dazai and the nicknamed Mackerel, Nakahara wondered if they were in cahoots and planned to drive him crazy. He briefly considered finding a way to kill them both.

Unfortunately, that endeavor would have to wait. Thanks to Nakajima Atsushi, who simply exists in the universe, Akutagawa was in the most passive aggressive and melodramatic of ways—which, in turn, pissed off Chuuya. The situation led him on a journey in search of something to brighten his co-worker's mood.

So there he was, strolling down the street toward the bakery, dodging other people while he glanced at his phone every so often. Chuuya barely managed to pry his fingers off of it when he finally stood in front of Kunikida's Sweet Dreams. Sighing, he stuffed the device into his trousers' pocket; it felt as if it were burning a hole in the material. He shrugged off the sensation, then opened the shop's door and walked through its entrance. A little bell hanging above the egress announced his arrival. His phone vibrated at nearly the same time, sending butterflies fluttering in his stomach and excited chills coursing down his spine.

Ignoring the notification, Chuuya stepped forward, casually making his way over to the young woman crouched behind the dessert display. When she saw him through the glass, she stood and waved.

"Hi, Nakahara-san," chirped Naomi Tanizaki with a smile.

Chuuya opened his mouth to return the greeting, but was interrupted by the firm pat that thumped against the top of his head; the unexpected touch nearly sent him skyrocketing through the roof. He looked over his shoulder. Considering the bad mood Akutagawa had put him in, the redhead was happy that the natural color in his cheeks remained unphased.

"Chuuya~!" squealed Dazai, his eyes bursting with stars and glitter. "I know you've missed me, but I never thought you'd come looking for me. I'm flattered, hat rack."

Officially blushing the deepest of reds, Nakahara whirled around and glared up at the brunet. He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his nose in the air, tapping his foot against the laminate floor. "What are you doing here?"

Dazai put a hand in his coat pocket and nonchalantly gestured around the room with the other. "Working."

Chuuya's eyebrows shot up. "Working," he echoed.

The brunet grinned the most angelic of grins—in spite of the fact that he looked to be up to no good and aimed to destroy someone's day, seeing as he lived to be an insatiable prankster with suicidal tendencies—and nodded. "Yes."

Chuuya let an arm drop, placing its hand on his jutted hip. "Wow," he hummed. "I'm surprised you have a job. I've been wondering what you do when your lazy self isn't bothering me." After he spoke, the tips of his ears dusted a pale pink. He took a moment to clear his throat, then added, "Forget I said that."

A display of fireworks lit up behind Dazai's brown eyes and he practically bounced on his feet. "I'm glad to know I was right, though I didn't doubt it for a second."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked the redhead, his brow scrunched up in confusion with a dash of dread at what the man might say next.

"It means, _Chuuya_ , that you've been thinking about me ever since you ran me over in the rain."

"And maybe I should've killed you that day; I would've been doing us both a favor," the redhead grumbled. He jabbed a gloved finger at the perpetual thorn in his side. "And _you're_ the one who ran into me, you idiot."

After the words flew past his lips, the brunet practically melted on the spot, and Chuuya was certain that the man only heard one thing during his scolding. "Chuuya's so kind, putting my hopes and dreams before anything else," Dazai sighed.

Nakahara rolled his blue eyes. "Well, if you're done harassing me, I need to place an order and leave."

"Oh!" chimed Dazai. "That reminds me." He held up a finger, silently telling the other to wait before he strolled toward the dessert display and stepped around it.

A couple of minutes later, he returned with a small turquoise box, its lid etched with Kunikida's Sweet Dreams in silver letters. Smiling, Dazai presented it to Chuuya.

The redhead cocked an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"It's Chuuya's gift," replied Dazai with a slight shrug of his shoulder.

Chuuya held out his hand. "I hope you're not using this pay off your tab."

Dazai's hand flew up to his chest, and his fingers clenched the material of his black waistcoat; it was then that Chuuya realized the man wasn't wearing his tan coat, and his covert eye appreciated it.

"I would never do such a thing, chibi!" gasped Dazai while he placed the dessert in Nakahara's palm.

"How about you pay it now?" asked Chuuya, the corners of his lips curling in a challenging smirk.

Pouting dramatically, Dazai reached into his pockets and turned them inside out. "Sorry, chibi," he apologized with an embarrassed shrug, "looks like I'm broke."

"I thought so," commented Chuuya.

"But!" Dazai continued. "I will pay it this Friday." Using his index finger, he crossed it over his heart. "I promise."

"Excuse me, Dazai-san?"

Glancing toward the counter, Dazai looked at the girl. "Yes, Naomi-chan?"

"Kunikida-san said that since you ruined his schedule today and made him late for a meeting with a potential client, he might withhold your pay."

Dazai waved the words away. "Kunikida-kun'll fork it over, anyway. Maybe he'll finally loosen up, too."

Curious in regard to someone else's agony brought on by Dazai's pranks, Chuuya asked, "What did you do to him?"

"I may or may not have temporarily—and accidentally—dyed his teeth black."

"Accidentally?" mused Nakahara.

"Yep!" chirped Dazai. "He must've gotten ahold of the black icing I made earlier this morning. Although it was delicious, I added a touch too much coloring to the mix."

"Then why didn't you throw it away?"

"Because Kunikida-kun's meeting was important."

"You're horrible," Chuuya scoffed, slapping his arm against his side. Deep down, and in spite of the other man's suffering, he was glad he wasn't the only one on the receiving end of the brunet's whims.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from behind a swinging metal door. Chuuya's head whipped in its direction, and he listened as an irate voice screeched, cursing about a certain bandage squandering machine.

"Sounds like Kunikida-kun's back."

Chuuya glanced at the brunet, who was unexpectedly inches away from his face; he could feel a bright blush threatening to warm his cheeks. Dazai graced him with a sly smile, then he leaned to the side to whisper in his ear.

"By the way," murmured Dazai, "If Chuuya truly likes what he sees—and I believe he does—I'll gladly leave my coat behind the next time I visit him."

Blushing against his own will, Chuuya glowered. "You're imagining things." The responding chuckle tickled his ears, the warm breath blowing through his curls. He briefly considered kneeing Dazai in the stomach, and send him careening across the room and through the front window until he flew into oncoming traffic.

"We'll see about that," Dazai muttered. "Until then, enjoy the cupcake, hat rack; I made it just for you."

Then, without another word, he tapped Chuuya on the nose.

* * *

Days later, Chuuya stood by a display, silently cursing himself while he reached for a book before placing it on the table, decorating it in order to make the novel as appealing as possible. A part of him wondered if it was his autobiography—Nakahara Chuuya, the yandere girl pining after the soon-to-be dead guy Dazai Osamu. He felt pathetic. Even more so, knowing that the bastard knew he was waiting for him to show up. That unfortunate knowledge led his mind to wander toward the note Dazai had tucked into the box containing a moscato cupcake donned with pink icing.

The sounds of books clattering to the floor startled him from his reverie. Huffing, Chuuya dropped to his knees and began collecting the merchandise.

"What're you doing?" asked Akutagawa, approaching the flustered redhead.

"Nothing," muttered Chuuya.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his co-worker's pale hand beckoning for a book.

"Rather than make a mess, why don't you just pick one?"

"Eh?"

Exhaling a ridiculously dramatic sigh, Akutagawa began arranging the display with each book handed over to him.

"You like Dazai-san," he clarified, "and seeing as he's constantly showing up here to annoy you, _and_ me, he likes you, too."

The back of Chuuya's neck burned hotter than the sun. "No, he doesn't."

"And now you're always checking your phone and _that_ distracts you," insisted Ryuunosuke. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was Dazai-san on the other end."

Nearly falling over, Chuuya loudly snorted, albeit a bit maniacally—or horrifically. "I doubt it."

* * *

Another three days later, and feeling like a Class-A dumbass for waiting for the waste of bandages to strut through the front door, a pissed off Chuuya quickly finished the book display (whose items surprising sold out at record speeds) then headed toward the storage room where he sat at a small round table. Scooping out his phone from his pocket, Chuuya pressed on the home button, and when the screen lit up, he was greeted by the usual message he always looks forward to; he would never admit it to a soul, though.

 **[1:24 P.M Mackerel]** _Chuuya!_

 **[1:24 P.M Mackerel]** _Chuuya!_

 **[1:24 P.M Mackerel]** _What're you doing, Chu-u-ya?_ (￣▼￣)

Sighing, the redhead took off his black gloves and sat them on the table. He picked up his phone and typed a reply.

 **[1:25 P.M]** What do you want?

 **[1:25 P.M Mackerel]** _To talk to my petite chou, of course._

A bright scarlet infused Chuuya's cheeks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while he simultaneously desired to pummel the guy's face.

 **[1:28 P.M]** I'm not your little cream puff.

 **[1:28 P.M]** And I'm not little either.

 **[1:30 P.M Mackerel]** _Yes, you are._

 **[1:31 P.M]** No, I'm not.

 **[1:31 P.M Mackerel]** _Oh, yes you are._

Exasperated, Chuuya gripped the phone as a creepy cooing sound echoed in his ear; he could practically hear the man's taunts. He scowled.

 **[1:33 P.M]** Will you cut it out?

 **[1:35 P.M Mackerel]** _No._ (⌒.−)

It was time to change the subject before the conversation went on like this forever; Chuuya knew the man on the other end of the line would love it, too.

 **[1:35 P.M]** Do you exist just to drive me crazy?

 **[1:35 P.M Mackerel]** _Pretty much._

 **[1:36 P.M Mackerel]** _But you wouldn't have me any other way._

No, no he wouldn't. But, he decided to keep that to himself.

 **[1:38 P.M]** If that's what you need to tell yourself so you feel better, don't do it.

 **[1:40 P.M Mackerel]** _Awww, Chuuya!_

 **[1:40 P.M Mackerel]** _Why are you sooo mean to me?_

 **[1:41 P.M]** Maybe if you stop being a pain in my ass, I'll start being a bit nicer.

 **[1:43 P.M Mackerel]** _Eh, never mind._

"Tch," tutted Chuuya, rolling his narrowed eyes at the illuminated screen.

 **[1:46 P.M]** You're just as bad as the guy who keeps bothering me while I'm at work.

 **[1:46 P.M Mackerel]** _He totally sounds amazing, if I can say so myself._

 **[1:47 P.M]** Just as frustrating and annoying, too.

 **[1:48 P.M Mackerel]** _I'm sure we both do our best to drive my petite mafia crazy._

Although he silently agreed with Mackerel in regard to sending him on the train to insanity, Chuuya was embarrassed by the heat rising in his cheeks. He really needed to get himself together.

 **[1:49 P.M]** Is it hopeless to get you to stop calling me lame nicknames?

 **[1:49 P.M Mackerel]** _Yes!_

A soft _harrumph_ noise exhaled through the redhead's nose; the fool was exhausting. Using his thumbs, he tapped against the screen, no doubt signaling a reply via the floating gray dots, but his retorting banter was cut off when the shop's door opened, its bell chiming.

Chuuya locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket, then tugged on his black gloves before heading out to the front. While he strolled through the passage connecting the storage room to the storefront, he was slightly shocked to realize that a small part of him hoped it was the idiot who had him waiting by the display for days. To his amazement, he was disappointed when he was greeted, not by the long-legged mummy, but by a customer wearing a newsboy cap waiting on the other side of the counter; he was adamantly ignoring Akutagawa in favor of staring Chuuya down.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked.

"You forgot a book while you were waiting by the display for Dazai-kun," the customer replied. "He has it."

"Eh?" Chuuya blurted out.

Off to the side, Akutagawa tsked. The redhead cast him a sidelong glance.

"He's saying Dazai-san's in the storage room," offered Akutagawa.

Chuuya looked over his shoulder. "How the hell did he get back there? I locked the door."

Slumping forward and placing his elbow on the counter, Akutagawa batted his free hand in the back room's direction. "Tch, just go talk to him."

"And don't forget the book!" added the customer, his green eyes boring into Chuuya's blue.

Sighing, Nakahara nodded. He walked into the storage area, and when he caught sight of Dazai, his footsteps stumbled.

"W-what the hell are you doing up there?" he sputtered, gaping up at the brunet. "Get off the ladder before you hurt yourself, you shithead!"

Dazai gazed down at him from the very top of the ladder leaning against the shelves, pausing with a book in his hand. "That's actually not a bad idea, chibi: falling to my death." He placed the item on the top shelf. "But I think Chuuya would miss me if I died," he added as he wrapped his hands around the ladder's side rails and slowly descended.

"You seriously need a hobby."

"I do have one: bothering you until you answer all the wonderful notes I've given you. Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to ignore people?"

"Isn't that what everyone else does when you're being a pain?"

The brunet paused, turning slightly to face him. He placed a hand over his heart. "Who knew someone so small could be so cruel?"

Chuuya scoffed. "I could always kick your ass."

Grinning, Dazai resumed climbing down. "Something tells me I should be afraid, but I don't think Chuuya can reach— _whoa!_ "

Suddenly, Dazai's foot slipped on a rung and he tumbled onto the floor, landing in a pile of open boxes. Seconds later, Chuuya heard an agonizing groan.

"Chuuya…"

"Holy shit—!" exclaimed Chuuya, rushing toward the seemingly injured Dazai Osamu.

He dropped to his knees and began tossing boxes of all shapes and sizes, all the while absently wondering why there were so many after the recycling had already been collected as he threw them off to the sides.

After he was finished flinging the empty packages to wherever they had landed, he found Dazai in a heap, surrounded by wayward cardboard, his long limbs tangled in brown paper and bubble wrap.

Scooting closer to Dazai, Chuuya's wide blue eyes roved over the other's prone form. "Are you—"

His mouth dropped open, his question dying on his tongue as he sucked in a harsh rush of air—the boxcutter that was usually stashed inside of the utility closet was lodged in Dazai's shoulder; he held it tightly while his face washed over with pain. The color in Chuuya's own quickly drained.

"Stay here," he ordered, his words scaling an octave; he wasn't proud of the slight hitch in his voice. "I'll go get help." The redhead made a move to stand, but a bandaged hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him firmly in place. He stared down at Dazai.

"You need to let go before you—"

"Chibi," the waste of bandages rasped, "I need to ask you something."

"I don't think now's the time, you bastard!" Chuuya tried to yank his arm free, but Dazai only tightened his grasp. "Do you wanna bleed to death?" he added through gritted teeth, pulling yet again.

In spite of the unyielding grip, the brunet gently squeezed his wrist. "True, this isn't how I wanted to go; it's too painful," he breathed, "but before I die"—and Chuuya scowled—"will you get coffee with me?"

Sputtering, Nakahara's jaw practically dropped down to the floor. "I can't get coffee with your suicidal ass if you're already dead!"

Dazai pouted, in what Chuuya believed to be, the most dramatic of pouts. "Indulge me, please?"

"Fine!" he snapped. "Let go of me, and if you manage to live, I'll get coffee with you."

The grip on his wrist disappeared.

With a bright smile, Dazai removed the boxcutter—whose blade hadn't been ejected, after all—and waved it in front of Chuuya.

"Wait— _what?!_ " squealed Chuuya. "Did you just—" He rose up on his knees, his knuckles cracking inside of his black gloves. His teeth clicked together, and a furious shade of red blossomed on his cheeks while steam hissed out of his ears.

Dazai flashed him the most devilish of smirks and playfully winked. Tossing the cutter onto a shelf, he sat up and dusted off the front of his trousers. He made an attempt to push himself up from the floor, but Chuuya beat him to the punch.

"You bastard!" The redhead reached out a gloved hand and shoved the other onto the floor, nearly sending him skidding across it into another pile of boxes. "I can't believe you pulled that!"

"Aww," Dazai cooed, his grin widening to tooth-rotteningly sweet levels, "was Chuuya worried about me?"

" _Phfft_ , no!"

"Well, as you can see, no blood," pointed of Dazai, gesturing at his shoulder. He placed a hand behind himself and used it to push himself up, his knees bending along the way. He held out a hand to Chuuya. "On the bright side, it did get you to finally agree to a date, since someone can't reply to a simple note."

Sneering softly, Chuuya took the proffered hand and allowed the brunet to hoist him up; the touch burned his skin despite his gloves. Luckily, he managed not to blush.

"How does this weekend sound?" questioned Dazai, smiling down at a red-faced and pissed off Chuuya.

He wasn't a man to go back on his word, but he glowered, regardless. "Fine. And for the record, it's coffee, not a date."

Dazai placed his hand on top of Chuuya's head, and gave it a gentle pat. "If that's what you'd like to tell yourself."

"Dazai-kun!" called a loud voice.

Warm brown eyes glimmering with amusement, and to Chuuya's annoyance, victory locked onto his own. They looked at one another, neither daring to lose in their impromptu staring contest.

"Yes, Ranpo-san?"

"I'm bored," Edogawa whined.

Both men heard a "tch" that was followed by the sound of Ryuunosuke's voice.

"If you're _bored_ , why are you here?"

"I had an appointment today with Yosano-sensei, and since I didn't know my way there, Dazai-kun agreed to go with me," answered Ranpo. "And he said we could pick up snacks if we stopped here so he can ask Mr. Fancy Hat for coffee."

"Are you serious?"

"Fancy Hat agreed, so yes I am."

The fire burning behind Chuuya's glare was enough to damn the average person to hell. But to his aggravation, Dazai took it in stride by batting his eyelashes sweetly. Chuuya immediately wanted to choke the life out of the demon who's been torturing his poor soul. But before he could crack his knuckles in preparation to wrap his slender fingers around the other's neck, he was caught off guard when Dazai placed his hand on top of his head, yet again; the touch was warm and actually quite soothing to Chuuya's frayed nerves.

"I'll see you soon, chibi," promised Dazai. "I look forward to our date."

"It's not a date," countered Chuuya.

Chuckling, Dazai strolled toward the storefront, waving the other's words away with a backward switch of his hand over his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Chuuya~"

Nakahara trailed behind him, his feet stomping against the floor. The two men walked into the room where Akutagawa sat by the coffee machine, glowering while Ranpo flipped through a random book, quietly complaining about how boring it was.

"Let's head back to the bakery, Ranpo-san," said Dazai.

Edogawa peered at Dazai over the rim of his glasses. "About time. I'm hungry." He snapped the book shut and scurried out the door.

On his way to the egress, Dazai placed a book on the appropriate display, and when he made it to the exit, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob, and turned to Chuuya; the redhead could feel his cheeks warming. With a swoon-worthy smile, the brunet winked and walked out the door.

"It's about time," sighed Akutagawa.

Chuuya crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "What?"

His co-worker, who was scribbling on a piece of paper, turned his head far enough to barely look at Chuuya. "You've been waiting by the display for days, Chuuya-san."

Cocking his eyebrow, Nakahara huffed. "So?"

Akutagawa rolled his gray eyes. "If you didn't want him to ask you out, you wouldn't have been waiting like the note asked." Exhaling another sigh, he focused back on the paper, but not before giving a double take to the other.

"He took your hat again."

Chuuya's hands flew up to his head; his fingers effortlessly ran through his curly tresses. Flushing and ticked off, he gaped. "Tch, that bastard," he growled.

The door opened again, its bell tinkling. Both employees turned toward it. Moving to the aisle closest to the wall, a tall blonde woman slowly made her way toward the coffee service area.

Akutagawa made a squeak—which was something Chuuya never imagined he'd hear, and it was quite frankly off-putting—and dropped his pen, not giving a care in the world that it rolled across the table before it clattered onto the floor.

"Chuuya-san, can I take my break?"

Chuuya snorted. "Go ahead."

His co-worker didn't hesitate to practically fly into the storage room, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The corners of Chuuya's lips curled into a grin. He faced their new customer.

"Can I help you with anything, Higuchi-san?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to his Ane-san's insistence (and the need to know the details later), Chuuya found himself standing beside an illuminated lamppost, leaning against it with one arm tucked underneath the other, his legs crossed at the ankles. He glanced at the phone in his hand and let out a long sigh; his breath came out in white puffs. Shifting against the lamppost, whose chilled metal seeped through his navy blue jacket, the redhead readjusted his position, all the while wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.

According to Akutagawa, it was a way to stop Dazai from frequenting the bookstore and causing destruction due to his life threatening clumsiness. On the other hand, the brunet believed Chuuya's in-the-heat-of-the-moment answer fell under the category of 'romantic date'. In reality, Chuuya was screwed.

So there he was, waiting for the waste of bandages to show up, drive him crazy for a few hours, then end the evening caffeinated and ready to go. He turned on his phone and instantly scowled, glaring at its bright screen. Chuuya clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and exhaled a loud frustrated huff. Not only was he going to be insane and bouncing off the coffee shop's walls before the night was over, he was going to be riding on his patience's coattails on the way to prison. And seeing as he had nothing else better to do while he continued to wait—other than worry about whether or not he was being stood up, and the emotions that followed—Chuuya unlocked his cell phone and brought up his messages.

He scrolled through the lists, passing by Tachihara's brags about winning (losing) a fight with Gin and Ane-san's romantic words of encouragement, as well as a few others that made him roll his eyes, until his thumb settled next to Mackerel's attempts at sweet talking him. They always worked.

 **[8:45 P.M]** What're you doing?

 **[8:50 P.M Mackerel]** _Ah! It's Chuuuyyaaa! Will he finally admit that he can't go a day without talking to me, hmm?_

 **[8:50 P.M]** I only text you when I'm bored.

 **[8:51 P.M Mackerel]** _I believe it's because you miss me._

The redhead's face heated to a pale pink; he blamed it on the cold air kissing his skin. He readjusted the dark green scarf around his neck, pulling it closer to his nose.

 **[8:52 P.M]** I miss not being bored.

 **[8:52 P.M Mackerel]** _I beg to differ._

Chuuya bit his bottom lip, wondering if there was a chance he could flip the tables, catch the guy off guard, because why not? He didn't.

 **[8:57 P.M]** Maybe you're right.

 **[8:58 P.M Mackerel]** _I knew you were sweet on me!_ ɷ◡ɷ

 **[8:58 P.M]** Like hell I am, you ass.

 **[9:00 P.M Mackerel]** _Since Chuuya keeps lying to himself about how much he adores me, what is he up to?_

 **[9:00 P.M]** I'm waiting for the bastard you and everyone else said I should get coffee with. He's late.

Chuuya's eyes flicked up to the top of his screen; Dazai was fifteen minutes late. He was obviously being stood up for the mere amusement of his so-called date, which hurt more than he'd care to admit. He rapidly typed out a message and as soon as he hit send, he simultaneously received a reply.

 **[9:01 P.M]** I should leave.

 **[9:01 P.M Mackerel]** _I'm jealous._

 **[9:02 P.M Mackerel]** _Aww! You shouldn't do something so mean._

 **[9:02 P.M]** What?

 **[9:03 P.M Mackerel]** _Eh?_

 **[9:03 P.M]** What the hell are you jealous about?

It seemed like eternity had passed before Chuuya was graced with an answer that made his stomach drop to the sidewalk and his mouth to gape while blood rushed through his ears.

 **[9:04 P.M Mackerel]** _I'm jealous of any man who gets to spend time with you, Chuuya._

As if on cue with the scarlet infusing in his cheeks, the sounds of footsteps accompanying a whistling tune approached Chuuya from behind. He swiftly shoved the device into his pocket and straightened his scarf before clearing his throat. He looked at the ground and watched the brown leaves scattering along the sidewalk.

"It's creepy to sneak up on people when it's dark outside," he pointed out.

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand settle on his head while a pair of shoes appeared before his own. Chuuya glared up at Dazai. A slow lopsided smile tugged at the other's lips, and Nakahara was thankful for the chilly wind fluttering through his curls and caressing his ever-warming cheeks.

"You're late," he added.

Dazai's eyebrows shot up. "Chibi seems mad."

"Tch, of course I'm pissed," Chuuya shot back, wiggling from beneath Dazai's hand. "I was just about to leave before you decided to show up."

The brunet cocked his head to the side, his hair blowing across his forehead while his smile grew; it was taunting and challenging and gorgeous—everything Chuuya loathed about him.

"Why didn't you?" asked Dazai.

Instead of taking the bait, Chuuya crossed his arms and narrowed his bright blue eyes at the frustrating waste of bandages. "Shut up."

"Then, how would I annoy Chuuya?"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," the redhead muttered.

"Obviously," agreed Dazai. He reached out a hand, and rather than pat Chuuya on top of his head, he ruffled the other's hair.

Chuuya scowled. "Will you quit it?"' he chided while he batted the brunet's hand away. Once the offending bandaged appendage was gone, he began combing his fingers through his tresses. He cast a sidelong glance at Dazai, then did a double take.

"Tch, gimme that!"

He popped up on his toes and made a move to swipe his twice stolen fedora, but the bastard stepped out of the way, sending him tumbling forward. Chuuya glowered before the man whipped around and began strolling down the sidewalk.

"Come on, Chuuya!" chirped Dazai, beckoning the redhead with a forward swish of his hand.

Mumbling, Nakahara trailed after the other, who—to Chuuya's embarrassment—slowed down his strides until they were walking side-by-side. He tucked his hands into his pockets; his fingers subconsciously tapped against his cell phone. Apparently, the action was loud enough to warrant Dazai's attention.

"Are you waiting for something?"

Glancing up at his trickster of a date, Chuuya's brow scrunched up and he hummed, "Eh?" It took another touch of his fingers for him to realize his tick.

He quickly faced forward, watching the other pedestrians mill around as they enjoyed the nightlife. "It's nothing."

To his side, the brunet made a hum of acknowledgement, which prompted Chuuya to look at him. Dazai was wearing a smug, victorious smirk that was just as suspicious as it was radiant.

"What're you smiling about?"

"Oh, it's nothing," parroted Dazai, his tone carrying a note of feather-light amusement. He began to whistle.

Something told Chuuya to worry about it anyway, but he decided not to travel down that road for his own sake. Who knew what Dazai would say to just to get under his skin? And seeing as the majority of their encounters (bothering Chuuya at the bookstore) consisted of Dazai taunting and teasing him, as well as pulling pranks that surprisingly haven't given the redhead gray hair, anything Dazai could think to say was up for grabs. Nakahara was almost positive Dazai preferred it that way, too.

Aside from Dazai's whistling, they strolled down the sidewalk, passing by busy stores in relative silence; it was only broken by the occasional courtesy 'excuse me' directed at passersby, and the laughter and chatter of others. Before both men knew it, they were quickly approaching a quaint coffee shop. It was owned and operated by an enthusiastic American who basically lived in the Adventure and Comedy sections of Port Mori's Bookstore. He was quite the chatterbox, too.

Nakahara ambled up to the entrance of Halley's Comet and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder for Dazai and watched as the man casually passed on by without a second glance. The redhead closed the door and whirled around, placing one hand on his hip.

"Oi!" he called.

Mid-stride, Dazai stopped and twisted around to gaze back at the redhead, his lips twitching in a silent "hm?"

"I thought we were getting coffee?"

The brunet smiled wickedly, and Chuuya knew the mischief gleaming in his brown eyes told him he'd be the reason why Dazai died this evening.

"We are," agreed Dazai. "But, I didn't say _when_ we'd go."

Chuuya's brows furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. "So...where are we going?"

Spinning on his heel, Dazai put his back to the shorter of the two and began walking toward their destination. "You'll see~!" he sang, and Chuuya grumbled.

They traveled another ten minutes in near silence. Chuuya found the atmosphere to be excruciatingly nerve wracking, considering the fact that Dazai talked non stop while he was harassing him at the bookstore. The only time he _was_ quiet was when he fell asleep in the storage room with an impromptu bubble wrap pillow tucked beneath his head.

All too soon, Chuuya found himself staring at a place that had alarm bells ringing in his ears. He looked over at Dazai who was beaming and practically bouncing with excitement.

"We're here," Dazai informed him.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Chuuya exclaimed, staring at what Dazai considered to be a date.

He scanned over a brown brick building with its windows boarded with planks of wood and a single steel door as its only egress. It was impossible to tell whether or not the place had electricity, or if people went inside to die; Chuuya was skeptical of the survival of those he watched enter the place.

"I wouldn't lie about this," insisted Dazai. "But, we could always leave if chibi's afraid."

Huffing, the redhead redirected his glare at the other, and his mouth dropped open in a surprised squeak.

"What the hell did you do to yourself!"

"Eh?"

"Your eye, idiot," replied Chuuya.

"This?" asked Dazai, waving at the bandages. "I just wanted to look the part! It's Halloween, after all." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, then strode toward the building. He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Chuuya, who remained rooted to the spot. Nakahara took in the challenge in the brunet's eyes.

Mumbling words that brought a grin to Dazai's face beneath his breath, Chuuya walked after him. When they were finally at the door that bode ill will, Dazai opened it and ushered him in first; he had the fleeting impression he was being sacrificed to some unknown deity.

Although it wasn't as bright as he had hoped (considering the building's exterior), Chuuya was relieved the unfortunately small interior was, indeed, lit, albeit dimly. He could feel Dazai behind him, moving past him and toward the employee Chuuya hadn't noticed. After a quick exchange, the brunet returned.

"Ready?"

Exhaling a puff of air, Nakahara nodded. Dazai flashed an award-winning smile, then headed over to another entrance Chuuya had, once again, failed to notice. He trailed closely behind the other.

Without warning, Dazai spun around Chuuya and gently nudged him forward, sending him into a narrow passage shrouded in darkness. Nakahara's hands stretched out in front of him, then to the sides where his palms flattened against what he assumed to be walls. Dazai pushed his back once more, looming over him in the abyss.

"You asshole," muttered Chuuya through clenched teeth.

"Spooky!" marveled Dazai, and Chuuya could practically hear his grin.

"What the hell is this place?"

"I'm not sure, hat rack, but I'm scared," whispered Dazai. "Hold my hand."

Suddenly, Chuuya felt a hand grab his backside. "Oi!" he yelped, his skin bursting with color. "Get your hand off my ass."

"Whoops, sorry," the brunet apologized with a soft laugh.

"Like hell you are!"

"It was an honest mistake," Dazai insisted. "In my defense, it _is_ pretty dark in here, hat rack." He crouched down low enough to speak into the other's ear, "If it's any consolation, you have a lovely rear end."

"Yeah, yeah," Chuuya grumbled.

Placing his palms on the small of the redhead's back, Dazai carefully pushed him forward. "Go on," he urged, "and if Chuuya gets scared, I'll protect him."

 _"Phfft!"_ hissed Nakahara. He proceeded onward, blindly making his way wherever the narrow passageway led him.

He turned his head and whispered over his shoulder, "Who was the one complaining about how spooky it is in here?"

"You were."

A scoff flew through Chuuya's lips and he scowled. "Tch, let's get out of here." He paused for a moment before adding, "And keep your hands to yourself before I break them."

"Geez, so mean," remarked Dazai. "But I promise not to touch again."

As they navigated through the building, Dazai stayed true to his word in addition to keeping his mouth shut. He was hyper aware of the other's never-ending presence above him, though. And while they walked in the void, a part of Chuuya allowed himself to admit that he did enjoy Dazai's company. That comfort came in handy when a loud noise reminiscent of floorboards banging against one another echoed down the hall toward Chuuya. He stopped in his tracks, thereby causing Dazai to run into him with a hushed _omphf_.

"What in the hell?" he breathed.

Two hands settled on his shoulders, followed by the sound of Dazai's voice.

"Keep going," ordered the brunet. "And like I said: I'll protect you."

The vein in Chuuya's forehead pulsated. "You can't even protect yourself," he reminded the other.

Dazai gave a hum of agreement, then spoke, "That's true; you go first."

Nakahara scowled at the darkness enveloping him. "I _am_ going first, you idiot!"

Inhaling a deep breath, the redhead took a pace forward; his toe slammed into what he hoped to be a wall. Chuuya let out a sharp hiss, muttering a few choice curses beneath his breath.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," answered Chuuya.

Beside him, he felt Dazai stretch out an arm, the long limb brushing against his temple. He heard the other's nails loudly scrape against the wall. After it was decided which way they needed to go, Dazai carefully guided Chuuya to the right—which led to the ever growing noise slowly approaching them.

As soon as the sound was at its highest, Chuuya's next footstep sent him bouncing in the air; a soft squeak of surprised escaped him, while a laugh behind him reached his ears. He slapped his hands on other side of him, using the wall as purchase while he proceeded forward, bouncing with every step he took. Thankfully, the trip ended after approximately five more paces.

"Well, that was fun," Dazai remarked.

Huffing out of the corner of his lips, Chuuya decided not to answer, choosing to revel in his relief instead. That relief didn't last long, however, because the next thing he knew, he was jerking from side to side, his body wobbling as the floor below him oscillated from left to right. The stimulation skyrocketing up his legs sent him tumbling backward into Dazai's waiting arms, both of which promptly wormed their way beneath his own limbs before wrapping around his upper chest and hoisting him upright. A beautiful shade of scarlet blossomed on his cheeks, and he wondered if Dazai could see it despite being able to see nothing at all.

Their awkward embrace carried Chuuya the rest of the way until they walked out the exit, where Dazai gently placed him back on his feet. Chuuya bent over, hands on his knees, which were still trembling thanks to the maze they finally escaped. He blinked away the dark as he adjusted to the lampposts lighting up the streets. After a deep intake of air, he straightened himself and turned to Dazai with a dirty glare.

"Do you always bring your dates to places like this?"

A smug lopsided grin lit up Dazai's face. He ambled toward Chuuya, then placed his hand on top of his head before crouching down and staring into the other's blue eyes.

"So Chuuya _does_ consider this a date," he mused, ruffling his long fingers through Chuuya's locks.

And with that, he winked a wink that bragged of triumph and told you so's, and Nakahara couldn't decide if he wanted to shove his fist down the bastard's throat or flush from head to toe; his body chose the latter.

* * *

After their adventure, the two sat down at a small table in the coffee shop run by Mark Twain.

Chuuya, who was still reeling with adrenaline, chose tea rather than coffee. On the other hand, Dazai was slurping on a cup of hot chocolate topped with an absurd amount of whipped cream; if he wasn't running off of his own dose of fight or flight, Nakahara was sure the man would be zooming around on a sugar high soon enough.

He watched as the brunet put down the mug and smack his lips. When he looked up at Chuuya, the redhead had to hold back a snort—Dazai's nose was covered with whipped cream. Albeit fleeting, Chuuya considered letting the topping remain as a form of payback, but he tapped the side of his own anyway. The cream swiftly disappeared.

"So…" Chuuya's words trailed off as he scrambled for something to say, his fingers tapping against the side of his cup.

Dazai stared at him, amusement dancing behind his sparkling brown eyes. Chuuya had to suppress his scowl, wholly aware that his demeanor was the reason behind the other's mirth.

"How's your creepy book?"

"Wonderful," enthused Dazai. "Can't put it down regardless of how many times I've read it." He placed his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in the palm of his hand. "Your turn."

"For what?" asked Chuuya.

The brunet rolled his eyes. "Tell me something, chibi."

Shifting in his seat, Chuuya wracked his mind for a random fact about himself. He settled on one, then spoke, "I've studied martial arts."

"Oh~!" Dazai squealed, his gaze taking on a playfully dangerous glint. "After our second date, teach me some moves?"

"Who said anything about a second date?" questioned Nakahara, his brows raised. "And I think you'll get your ass kicked before you actually learn something."

"The second may be true," admitted Dazai with a lazy shrug of his shoulder. "But you'll totally want to see me again—and soon."

"You're pretty sure of yourself."

Dazai leaned in and flashed the cockiest, most confident smirk Chuuya had ever seen. The little voice in the back of his mind knew the other's next words were true.

"I'm _never_ wrong, Chuuya."

* * *

To Chuuya's unexpected disappointment, the coffee shop closed and practically kicked them out, thus putting an end to their date and Dazai's enthusiasm to talk Chuuya's ear off. He was also amazed that he enjoyed it regardless of the unrelenting ringing the other's voice left in his abused ears.

They strolled down the sidewalk, bypassing the lampposts and fellow pedestrians. A cool breeze fluttered through Chuuya's hair. The brown leaves that had been stubbornly clinging to the trees fell and whirled around his ankles as they walked, and with his head bowed to the ground he watched them skirt on by. He hadn't realized Dazai stopped until he basically ran into him. A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders. Warm fingers nestled beneath his chin and tilted his head back.

"I guess this is it, chibi," said Dazai with a soft smile.

"Yeah, I guess so," agreed Chuuya.

Humming, Dazai ran his thumb over his cheek, which immediately bloomed a pale hue of pink. The color deepened to a brilliant shade of scarlet when Dazai leaned down, and Chuuya was nearly prepared for what he thought was going to happen, but was caught off guard when he felt Dazai's breath against his lips.

"Sweet dreams, Chuuya," Dazai whispered, caressing his thumb over the redhead's cheek and along his lips. In spite of the moment, Nakahara's hearing zeroed in on that simple phrase; a faint sense of dejá vu flickered in his mind.

He let go of Chuuya's chin, and with a bright grin Dazai whirled on his heel and headed across the street.

"Wait—!" called Chuuya. He waited for the man to turn around before speaking, his brow furrowed and a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmm?"

"What did you just say?"

A mischievous look washed over Dazai's face and he smirked. "Goodnight, Chuuya."

* * *

Fun facts:

• The first half of their date is inspired by a walk through/ride from an amusement park about an hour from where I live. My family and I got on the ride, and who had to lead a big group of people through the dark? Me!

• Real life Mark Twain was born around an appearance by Halley's Comet and died around another


	5. Chapter 5

**[9:03 A.M Mackerel]** _Chuuyyyaaaa!_

 **[9:03 A.M Mackerel]** _Chuu-Chuu_

 **[9:03 A.M Mackerel]** _yaa-yaa_

 **[9:04 A.M]** I'm 5 minutes away from reaching through this phone and strangling you if you don't fucking cut it out.

 **[9:04 A.M Mackerel]** _Ah, such cruel beautiful words. I knew_ _you loved me._

"Tch," tutted Chuuya, his warm breath coming out in white puffs of air.

He readjusted the green scarf around his neck, pulling it over his mouth. His gaze flicked upward and zeroed in on Port Mori's Bookstore across the street, absently watching its door open and close through the maze of cars passing by his spot on the curb. Heaving a sigh, Chuuya glanced down at his phone and began typing out a reply before tapping on send.

 **[9:05 A.M]** I'm on my way to work. How about you do whatever it is you do to piss me off later?

 **[9:05 A.M Mackerel]** _It's a date!_ (⊙ᗜ⊙)

Rolling his eyes, the redhead placed his phone into his pocket just as the signal to walk lit up with a little green man. Chuuya hurried across the way toward the store and pulled open the door, stepping inside to a full house.

He weaved through the crowd of patrons until he made it to the front counter, then slipped behind it to shrug off his coat and scarf. Gaze cutting to the side, he watched Akutagawa hastily preparing coffee alongside an unexpected guest ringing up orders.

"Atsushi-kun? What are you doing here?" he asked, placing a hand on his hip.

"Hi, Nakahara-san," said Atsushi, whipping around to face him, a pile of books in his arms. He opened his mouth, but was cut off by a light cough that managed to make it to Chuuya's ears over the customers' loud chatter.

Chuuya looked over Atsushi's shoulder to find Akutagawa tossing him a pointed look.

"You were late," Akutagawa proclaimed, and Chuuya could see a light color dusting the tips of Atsushi's ears as his coworker spoke.

Chuuya's eyes slowly traveled from Atsushi to Akutagawa, regarding them closely while taking in the former's reddening cheeks and the latter's blank expression. _Interesting_. A barely-there grin quirked the corner of his mouth. It sharpened into a shark-toothed smirk when Atsushi began to fidget under his lingering and skeptical gaze, obviously struggling not to look over his shoulder at Akutagawa for the back-up he would never receive. But to Nakahara's surprise, Akutagawa stepped around Atsushi, taking the books from his arms.

"You can go now," said Akutagawa, which sounded more like a command than anything else.

Nevertheless, Atsushi graced Chuuya with a shy smile and short bow, and then without a backward glance at Akutagawa, scurried through the break room and out the back exit. The redhead kept his stare trained in the direction Atsushi had fled to for a few heartbeats before looking at Akutagawa, his lips twitching with amusement. Unlike Nakahara, his coworker appeared to be far from entertained.

Biting back a laugh, Chuuya cleared his throat, then spoke, "I take it you and Atsushi-kun are…" He paused, taking his time to carefully choose his wording. "Friends?"

A huff escaped Akutagawa's mouth. "No."

Chuuya shifted his weight to one foot, slightly twisting around and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "But you guys looked like—" His sentence was cut off by a polite voice.

"Hi!" a young woman chirped. A beautiful smile lit up her face, her green eyes sparkling and hand waving enthusiastically.

Akutagawa, for once, opted (and Chuuya found himself amazed for the second time) to tend to the customer's needs, but before he could ask what she wanted, she spoke again.

"Is Dazai-kun here?"

The question sent Chuuya's stomach dropping to the floor and his teeth grinding together. His hand clenched into a fist against his hip; the audible crack of his knuckles was inconveniently loud. Thankfully, he managed to swallow down the pissed off growl quietly rumbling in his throat and the angry blush dusting the tips of his ears.

Despite the flurry of emotions swirling in his gut, Chuuya plastered on a grin. "No, he's not here today."

* * *

It was finally Chuuya's day off.

To his delight, that meant time away from Akutagawa, whose continuous complaints regarding Atsushi's uselessness and work ethic grated on his nerves. The malice behind Akutagawa's scoldings had died down quite a bit, though. Nakahara had his suspicions as to what brought about his coworker's new attitude: if he hadn't caught the faintest shift in Akutagawa's tone each time he snapped, the redhead was sure he would've missed it. Chuuya prayed that, for his sake, the two would stop butting heads and come to some sort of agreement that would put an end to his (and most likely the customers') misery.

In addition to the agony brought on by Akutagawa, Dazai's tendencies to appear at random hours during the work day had become more frequent since their date. Alongside the perpetual pain in his ass came the endless flirtatious teasing and flustering banter, the naps taken in the break room, and oddly enough, the fan club Dazai managed to reel into the bookstore. The Boss was delighted by the increase in revenue. Chuuya was annoyed. And because Chuuya was annoyed, Dazai was ecstatic. According to the waste of bandages' logic, the redhead's reaction to his admirers proved that Nakahara had a thing for him. He did. But just like the numerous times before, Chuuya pushed the admission to the back of his mind.

Wrapped in a throw blanket, Chuuya sat on the ledge of his spacious windowsill, watching the sun setting over the city. His left hand cradled a steaming cup of tea while his right held a pen between its fingers; an open book lain in his lap. Every so often, he would study the page scribbled with words: poetry in the forms of iambic pentameter, lyrics, various thoughts in regard to nothing in particular, and the occasional measure in treble clef. All were in an effort to clear his mind. His endeavor flew out of the figurative window when his phone buzzed against his stomach, the vibrations tickling his skin.

The speed in which he tossed the ink pen to the side in exchange for his phone put the speed of light to shame; the swift movement caused his tea to slosh against the sides of the cup, droplets flying over its rim and trickling down onto his blanket. The redhead paid the wet splotches no mind as he tapped on the home button; the screen cast a white glow upon his face, highlighting his bright blue eyes. In spite of his eagerness (which would never be seen in the light of day outside of his home), a scowl furrowed his brow. Clutching his phone, Chuuya's knuckles cracked as he unlocked his cell and brought up the messaging app.

 **[8:01 P.M. Mackerel]** _What's Chuuya up to?_

A part of Nakahara wondered if he should delete the message—along with their texting history—and never talk to the prick again. Or, perhaps go one step further by reaching through the phone and wringing the mackerel's neck until his lips turned blue and his eyes popped out of his head. But contrary to those thoughts, Chuuya clicked his tongue and allowed his slim fingers to move of their own accord.

 **[8:07 P.M]** None of your business.

 **[8:10 P.M. Mackerel]** _Someone sounds small and angry._

He was right. But in Chuuya's defense, the jerk hadn't replied to the last text he'd sent days ago. So, rather than tell the man to take a hike—preferably into a volcano with jagged rocks at its base—Chuuya decided to fib just a tiny bit.

 **[8:10 P.M.]** I'm NOT small and I'm in a bad mood because you texted me.

 **[8:11 P.M. Mackerel]** _But Chuuya's been waiting for me to._

Miffed by the other's audacity, Chuuya's furious fingers sped along the keyboard without thought. He immediately regretted the decision to hit send before proofreading.

 **[8:12 P.M.]** Then what took you so long?

 **[8:14 P.M. Mackerel]** _Aww!_ (￣▼￣*)

 **[8:14 P.M. Mackerel]** _I knew you missed me._

"Tch," Chuuya huffed. Reaching across his lap, Chuuya placed his cup of forgotten tea on what little space remained between him and the window. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, ignoring the far-fetched accusation as he typed out a reply.

 **[8:17 P.M.]** What do you want?

 **[8:18 P.M Mackerel]** _Well…_

Twenty minutes later, the redhead found himself wondering why the hell he had asked the fool what he wanted in the first place. Because if Chuuya had to hear one more thing about the joys of eating crab or the complaints about how tired the mackerel was due to his interrupted naps or the dad jokes that made Nakahara laugh more than he cared to, he was going to slam his fist into a wall. So before he shattered the plaster of his cream-colored walls (and his hand), Chuuya changed the subject.

 **[8:38 P.M]** Tell me something that does not involve whatever the hell you were talking about.

 **[8:40 P.M. Mackerel]** _Chuuya wasn't listening?_ (ಥ﹏ಥ)

 **[8:40 P.M.]** I was bored.

 **[8:45 P.M. Mackerel]** _I think I know how to keep your attention._

Chuuya waited, watching the three gray dots waver across the screen. Seconds later, they stopped. Giving up on whatever the other was taking a lifetime to say, Chuuya picked up his book and resumed writing; all thoughts of Mackerel fled his mind as he got lost in another round of poetry.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at his door.

Throwing his legs over the ledge of his windowsill, Chuuya placed his phone on the empty spot. With his journal in hand, he hopped down and shuffled toward the couch, the blanket draped over his shoulders billowing behind him like a cape. Just as he was tossing the blanket onto the back of the couch, a second knock sounded.

"Hold on a second!" he called.

As if it mock him, the next two knocks came in the form of harsh pounds. Chuuya glowered, practically gnashing his teeth as he strolled toward the door, his feet silently padding against the floor. He placed his hand on the knob, turning it and yanking the door open.

The not-so-innocent smile beaming down at him reminded Nakahara why he wished he had some knowledge on mafia-style torture techniques. They would be useful right about now.

Placing a hand on his jutted hip, Chuuya asked, "Are you stalking me?"

Dazai, who was holding a blue box of Sweet Dreams desserts and white napkins, batted his eyelashes sweetly. "I heard chibi was sick, so I've come to take care of him."

"Who the hell told you I was sick?"

"Akutagawa-kun told me." Tilting his head to the side, Dazai rubbed his chin in thought, his brown eyes focused on the ceiling. "He may have said you're _sick_ of _me_ , but that can't be possible."

"He's not wrong," Chuuya mumbled beneath his breath. He stepped aside (mostly because Kouyou would chide him for his rudeness) and ushered the brunet inside of his apartment. Dazai followed the gesture with a slight hop in his step, flashing a charming smirk and patting Chuuya's head as he passed by. Nakahara thought it was too bad that he hadn't stuck out his leg and tripped the bandaged freak before he was out of reach.

Closing the door, Chuuya whirled around. "Why are you _really_ here?"

Through narrowed blue eyes, Chuuya observed Dazai as the man toed off his shoes and shrugged off his trench coat before waltzing over to Chuuya's couch and flopping onto the seat. He made himself at home on the redhead's favorite spot, crossing his legs and slouching down on the cushion.

"I heard you were sick." Dazai dropped his head against the back of the couch, his dark hair brushing along the upholstery. He turned his head to the side until his cheek met the upper cushion.

"Plus, it's date night," he added. "Chibi isn't standing me up, is he?"

Scoffing, Chuuya ambled over to the couch, stepping around the armrest so he could toss the brunet a glare. Nakahara silently (and smugly) reveled in the moment: he was staring down at Dazai for a change.

"Who said anything about date night?"

A bottom lip appeared. It even had the nerve to quiver. "You forgot? I told you twice, Chuuya."

"Twice?"

"You should throw that fedora away; it might be the reason why you never listen," hummed Dazai. "Or is it because you're too stubborn?"

Ignoring the taunts that had him mere seconds away from punching the gorgeous bastard's face, and thus sending him careening out of the window, Chuuya pointed at the barren cushion.

"Move."

With a sly smile, Dazai slid across the couch. He patted the empty, but warm, spot and said, "Take a seat, hat rack."

Chuuya grabbed the throw blanket, wrapping it around himself before sitting next to the other; his feet peeked out from beneath the covering. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dazai comfortably lounging as if he belonged there in his apartment. And as he gazed at the brunet longer than probably should have, Chuuya realized he had no idea what to say to the prick. Nor did he notice that he had been caught staring.

"Calm down, Chuuya," came Dazai's amused voice. "If you keep fidgeting, you'll never grow and your tiny feet will dangle there forever."

Grumbling, the redhead reached for the throw pillow he was resting against and smacked Dazai upside his head, his curls bouncing around his face as he moved. It earned him a laugh in return.

"Seems I made someone angry," Dazai remarked with a cocky smirk. He paused, taking in the snarl curling the corner of Chuuya's mouth. "Yet still cute when you look like you wanna kill me."

Chuuya hummed in agreement. He regarded Dazai with a tilt of his head, his red hair falling across his forehead as he grinned the sweetest smile he could muster.

"I'd love to, but you don't deserve it."

Dazai closed his eyes, his bottom lip trembling. "That has to be the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

"You'll survive," Chuuya responded dryly.

At his words, Dazai perked up. The man twisted around in his spot, nearly knocking Chuuya over. Thankfully, he managed to right himself before he indeed did end up on the floor.

"I'll survive if chibi teaches me some moves," the brunet suggested, his eyes glimmering with excitement.

"Eh?"

Dazai exhaled a huff out of the corner of his mouth, blowing his hair from his forehead. Reaching forward, he tapped Chuuya on his temple and said, "Martial arts, remember?"

With a raised brow and skeptical, yet amused, expression, Chuuya placed his hand on his chest. "You want _me_ "—he gestured toward Dazai—"to teach _you_ how to get _your_ ass kicked?"

"Sure, why not?" responded Dazai with a carefree shrug.

Considering everything Dazai had put him through since the day they collided in the rain, whooping Dazai's ass was an idea Chuuya could get behind. So, with a grin that was borderline evil, Nakahara slithered out of his blanket and hopped to his feet. He faced Dazai, one hand on his hip and the other beckoning for him to get up. The challenge glittering in his blue eyes was answered by the mischievous smirk lighting up Dazai's face. It was a sight Chuuya could get used to. Another image he hoped to have permanently seared into his mind was the brunet sprawled on his living room floor, knocked out and incapable of speaking. Therefore, his fingers twitched in anticipation as Dazai stood from the couch.

"Alright," Chuuya stated, turning toward the piece of furniture that stood between him and Dazai's untimely demise by his hand. Leaning down, he placed his palms against the edge of the coffee table. "Help me get this out of the way."

"I didn't come here for manual labor, Chuuya."

Nakahara shot the other man a dirty glare and scoffed, "Do you even know what hell that is?"

Forgoing an answer, Dazai crouched down, copying Chuuya's position. They pushed back the table to the far end of the living room, leaving enough space for Nakahara to put the waste of bandages in his place. He straightened up, regarding Dazai with a smug look over his shoulder as he walked to one end of the area; the brunet followed the silent command, placing one hand in his pocket while he lazily strolled to the opposite end. As if in sync, they both whipped around, their eyes locking.

Without warning, Dazai darted forward, ready to strike. And when Dazai's clenched fist did try to land a punch, the redhead caught it with ease. As if to reward the taller man for his stupidity, Nakahara's fingers wrapped around the other's wrist, and using Dazai's momentum, spun around and knocked Dazai's legs from under him; the brunet slammed onto the floor with a harsh thud. Chuuya finished it off by landing on top of Dazai, his knee and foot on either side of the man's waist, his forearm lightly pressed against Dazai's neck. He loomed over the poor soul.

"Oww!" Dazai complained through a wicked smile. "Chibi's much stronger than he looks."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Chuuya offered with a note of pride in his voice.

A bandaged hand draped over Chuuya's forearm, its digits wrapping around the slender limb. Dazai peeked up at him through the strands of red hair laying across his own forehead. "Go again?"

"Again?" Chuuya echoed, dimly registering the fingers of the brunet's free hand tucking strands of wayward curls behind his ear.

Amused brown eyes rolled to the side, and Dazai answered, "Yes, hat rack, again."

It didn't take too long for Dazai to end up on the floor again, stomach down with his arm twisted behind his back and Chuuya hovering over him. The next five rounds were more or less of the same caliber. Dazai had managed to block a few punches, though. All in all, Chuuya was victorious.

Nakahara leapt to his feet, watching Dazai parrot the move. He walked to the coffee table with the other following behind. They pushed it back to the spot in front of the couch. Something slid along the table, catching his ear. Chuuya's gaze flicked to the side, landing on the small dessert box Dazai had brought along with him. Without a word, the redhead reached for it, and with the box in hand, stepped around the table and sat on the couch. Rather than see, he felt Dazai settle down next to him; the material of Dazai's dress shirt had brushed against Chuuya's arm.

"What's this?" he asked, shifting to look at Dazai.

Surprised eyebrows shot up. "Chuuya's favorite."

A soft _hmph_ of acknowledgement resonated in Chuuya's throat and he popped open the blue lid: inside were cupcakes topped with pink icing—the moscato ones he had refused to share with anyone, including Kouyou.

"I told you you'd love them," Dazai gloated.

"Eh," Chuuya hummed, the sound downplaying the fact that the brunet was right. Turning back to the box, he picked out one of the four and blindly held it to the side for Dazai to take.

"Wine's gross."

The Sweet Dreams cupcake nearly slipped from Chuuya's hand, his head whipping toward Dazai as his eyes widened. He stared at the other, wondering if the words were said just to get a reaction out of him.

"Sake's better," the taller man explained. Dazai raised his hand, carefully pushing the cupcake away; the gentle touch of Dazai's slender fingers caressing his own sent tingles crackling beneath Chuuya's skin.

Personally offended, Nakahara turned away. He pulled down the thin white paper wrapped around the treat and took a small bite before swallowing down the moscato aftertaste.

"Chuuya's favorite," came the smug voice.

The redhead's blue eyes cut to the side. "What makes you think that?"

"I made them."

"So." Chuuya paused, reaching for one of the small white napkins that came along with the package before continuing, "You think they're my favorite because _you_ made them?"

" _See?_ You can follow logic." Dazai plucked the napkin from Chuuya's hand. "There's hope for you yet hat rack."

Before a scowling Chuuya could comment, Dazai placed a finger beneath Chuuya's chin, guiding him to turn. He was met with a charming and dazzling smile; the butterflies in the redhead's stomach fluttered before he had a chance to stop them.

"Besides, you should know by now that I'm always right," Dazai answered, then swiped his thumb along the corner of Chuuya's mouth. He pulled away with a spot of pink icing on the pad of his finger. It was wiped away with the napkin in Dazai's hand.

Aware that his cheeks were most likely the same shade as the icing, Chuuya carefully placed his cupcake pack in the blue container, setting it on the small space that rested between them. He pushed himself up from the couch. When he heard a light yawn, Chuuya glanced down at Dazai, who was blinking slowly.

"Tired?"

"You did throw me around the room a couple of times," the brunet pointed out.

"So, would you like some coffee?" Chuuya asked.

"I think that would be fair since you keep waking me up while I'm visiting you at work."

Eyes narrowing, Chuuya huffed out, "Do you want coffee or not? Because, unlike the shop, you're not sleeping here."

Dazai nodded, stifling another yawn with the back of his hand. "Thanks, chibi," he said, then slumped further down in his seat.

"Don't go to sleep," ordered Chuuya. His response came in the form of a dramatic yawn and a bandaged arm batting his presence away.

Suppressing the urge to flip the man the bird, the redhead ambled into his kitchen. He quickly prepared the brew, paying mind to what he inconveniently remembered to be Dazai's coffee preferences. Minutes later, Chuuya returned to his living room with two mugs in hand, sitting down on the couch and handing Dazai his own. Spying out of the corner of his eye, Chuuya watched as the other took a sip. He nearly flinched when Dazai emptied it in one gulp.

"Well, hat rack," Dazai started, placing the cup on the coffee table. He hopped to his feet, turning to pick up his trench coat from the back of the couch before shrugging it on. "Time to go."

Chuuya failed to prevent the frown before it appeared. Nor did he manage to hide the faint note of disappointment as it slipped free when he asked, "You're leaving?"

Dazai leaned down until he was eye level with Chuuya. Raising a brow, he flashed a sly, lopsided grin. "Are you going to miss me?"

 _"Pfft,"_ the redhead huffed out, blustering away the heat threatening to warm his cheeks. _"No."_

The expression directed his way told him that Dazai, of course, didn't believe his white lie. Chuuya would stand by it anyway.

"If you say so," sighed Dazai. He tapped Chuuya's nose, then chirped, "Boop!"

After batting the bastard's hand away, Nakahara set his coffee down and stood. He didn't say a word as he headed toward his front entrance with Dazai trailing closely behind him. Chuuya dimly heard Dazai toeing on his shoes as he opened the door.

"Alright, get out," said Chuuya, waving his arm in a _shooing_ motion.

"Geez, _so mean_ ," commented Dazai. He walked up to Chuuya, then placed his hand on top of his head. He gave it a gentle pat, removing it before Chuuya had a chance to break it.

"Sweet dreams, Chuuya." Leaning forward, Dazai pressed a kiss on Chuuya's cheek as if it were the most natural thing for him to do; the touch left tingles rippling across Chuuya's warming skin.

Then, with a playful wink, Dazai hurried out the door, leaving a stunned and open-mouthed Chuuya in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Chuuya leaned against the counter with one elbow propped on its surface, his chin cradled in his palm. The fingers of his free hand drummed a lazy beat against the cold wood beneath their tips. It was a slow Friday at the bookstore. Thus, the redhead was bored. He was restless, too. So in an effort to pass the time, Chuuya reorganized the shelves, cleaned the café tables, and stacked the white porcelain mugs by the coffee station in a pretty good darn display (if he could say so himself). Too bad no one has stopped in to see it. Nevertheless, his busy work had only managed to transpire a total of one hour and fifteen minutes before he was back to his original state of boredom.

Eyes flicking to the round clock on the wall, Chuuya exhaled a grumble at the time, his breath fluttering through his hair. It was only eleven o'clock. Seeing as there was nothing else to do other than pray someone would walk through the front door while the minutes crawled by, he considered asking Akutagawa if he minded Chuuya taking an early lunch break so he could find some sort of entertainment by harassing Dazai at the bakery. Willingly seeking the man out before he barged through the back door and wrecked havoc on Chuuya's nerves would be a first.

Mind made up, Nakahara pushed himself from the counter and headed toward the break room; his footsteps were quiet as he strolled through the short narrow hallway. As soon as he walked into the room, Chuuya immediately wished he had opted to simply leave and track the bandaged freak down at his workplace without notifying Akutagawa. Rather than do so, however, he stood there frozen to the spot with his mouth agape. Chuuya wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, run away and act like he hadn't seen a thing, or sound a round of well-awaited applause. He chose a light cough, instead.

His reply came in the form of a startled squeal followed by the screeching of black boots backpedaling across the floor as Atsushi practically flew to the other side of the room. Standing by the chairs, he dropped into a low bow, and Chuuya could see a scarlet red flooding his cheeks and ears, spreading down the back of his neck. Atsushi straightened up and began fiddling with his gloves.

The corner of Chuuya's mouth curled into a sly grin. It widened when he caught sight of Akutagawa's narrowed glare out of the corner of his eye; the look dared him to comment. Biting back his smile, Chuuya cleared his throat to break the deafening silence that was ringing in his ears.

"I'm sorry to interrupt—"

"Don't be sorry, Nakahara-san!" Atsushi interjected, frantically waving his hand in an almost hysterical way; Chuuya fleetingly wondered if it would break off and carousel across the room under the building momentum. "We're just—"

A loud cough interrupted Atsushi's excuse, drawing both his and Chuuya's attention. They were met with a pair of gray eyes burning holes into their cores.

"Do you need me at the station, Nakahara-san?" Akutagawa asked, his voice gruff. If Atsushi was hearing what Chuuya was hearing, it was borderline murderous.

"There hasn't been any customers so far today," began Chuuya, "so would you mind if I stepped out for an early break?"

Gray eyes roll to the side, and Akutagawa sighed, "If you want to go visit Dazai-san—"

The tips of Chuuya's ears tinged a light pink; he was grateful that his hair covered the majority of his body's betrayal. Keeping his cool (and not denying his coworker's foresight), the redhead jabbed a finger over his shoulder and huffed, "Do you want a fig scone or not?"

"Yes," came the simple answer. Chuuya posed the same question to Atsushi.

Atsushi shifted to one foot. "Sure, that would be—"

"He's not staying," Akutagawa cut the other off, glaring at Atsushi out of the corner of his eye. After the harsh words were spoken, Chuuya caught sight of another round of color blossoming on Atsushi's pale cheeks.

Ignoring Akutagawa's stubbornness, Nakahara spoke, "I'll get you a tea cupcake, Atsushi-kun."

Before either could protest or throw a fit, Chuuya spun on his heel and headed through the corridor to the store front. He put on his hat and shrugged on his coat before loosely wrapping his green scarf around his neck. After securing his outerwear, Chuuya exited the bookstore and turned the corner leading to Kunikida's Sweet Dreams bakery. He swiftly weaved through the crowd of pedestrians and darted across the street, his hurried breaths coming out in white puffs of air. As he rushed down the sidewalk, he pushed away the idea that his pace was due to the prospect of seeing a certain lanky waste of bandages versus the need to get out of the cold weather. Deep down, both were ideal. When he wrapped his hand around the bakery's front door and opened it, the two desires came to fruition when the bell chimed over the entrance.

Chuuya stepped into the shop, the door closing behind him with a soft click. He made a move toward the dessert display when the sound of a chair scraping caught his attention, his foot mid-stride. The redhead glanced to the side to find a pair of bright green eyes staring at him. His memory brought forth the familiar face.

"Dazai-kun's in the kitchen," said Ranpo, his hand cradling an impressive amount of chips. "He's been waiting for his boyfriend to stop by."

A young woman popped out from behind the dessert display. Naomi jabbed a finger at the other employee, wagging it as she chided, "It's _not_ nice to _tease_ , Ranpo-san!"

In lieu of her light scolding, Ranpo simply shrugged and stuffed the chips into his mouth before turning in his seat to look out the window. Naomi rolled her gray eyes.

"He's back there," Naomi told Chuuya. She beckoned him forward, and when he was standing in front of her, she leaned in and whispered behind her hand, "Be careful because he made Kunikida-san mad...again."

"That doesn't surprise me," murmured Chuuya.

"Nope," she chirped. Smiling sweetly, she gestured toward the kitchen. As Chuuya walked by, her grin turned into a wicked smirk.

"Have fun~!"

Nakahara ignored the tease before he decided to forgo his plans to harass Dazai and return to the bookstore without the promised desserts. He wished he had followed through on that choice when he stepped through the swinging door to the kitchen. Rather than a pair of infuriatingly gorgeous brown eyes, Chuuya was met with a splatter of cake batter to his cheek.

"Sorry about that, chibi."

"Bastard." Chuuya shot a dirty look at Dazai, whose rolled up sleeve allowed him to be practically elbow deep in the large bowl. Wiping away what was meant to be chocolate with his gloved hand, he grumbled, "I should've stayed at the shop."

Dazai put the mixing bowl down on the metal counter, placing the whisk inside. He grabbed a towel from a bin from beneath the workspace, then closed the distance between the two. Chuuya reached out to grab the cloth, but the taller man pulled it away with a shake of his head.

"Let me," he said, and to Chuuya's surprise, he allowed Dazai to clean off his hand. While the brunet wiped off one finger after the other, Nakahara leaned to the side to peek at whatever Dazai had been up to before he arrived.

Chuuya took note of the measuring cups and ingredients—flour, sugar, baking soda, bars of chocolate and the like—haphazardly spread about on the messy counter, silently wondering how the man managed to keep track of each item. Gaze roving over the display, Chuuya zeroed in on two opened cans. He nearly gagged.

"What the hell are you doing with canned crab?" Chuuya asked, nearly shuddering with disgust.

"Experimenting."

"Experimenting?"

"Mhmm," hummed Dazai. He continued to inspect Chuuya's hand, wiping away any chocolate droplets clinging to his gloves.

Blue eyes flicked upward, connecting with browns. He took note of the flour dusting Dazai's cheek. "And what exactly are you doing?"

Dazai grinned. "Crab cupcakes."

"Do I have to tell you how fucking _gross_ that is?" Chuuya questioned. Without thought, he reached up and removed the smudge of flour on the brunet's cheek with the pad of this thumb.

"Hey," started Dazai, "don't knock it until you try it, hat rack."

"Yeah, that's not happening."

A bottom lip appeared in a pout. Chuuya rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Fine," Dazai complained. "You really _are_ mean."

Nakahara yanked his hand away. " _No_ , I prefer to live."

Shrugging, Dazai returned to the table and picked up the bowl after tossing the towel away. "So, why's Chuuya here?"

As the other spoke, the redhead watched as he picked up bits of crab from a can and sprinkled them into the chocolate concoction. Chuuya wondered if Kunikida's fury stemmed from a taste of the poison currently cradled in Dazai's arms.

"I was bored at work," Chuuya answered, his eyes following the whisk's movements. "So, I figured I'd bother you."

 _"Aww,"_ Dazai cooed, "it's alright to admit that you've missed me."

Placing a hand on his hip, Chuuya tossed the jerk a glare. "Get over yourself."

"It's not my fault you've been thinking about me since our date," came the smug retort.

"If that's what you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, have at it bastard."

An all-knowing, lopsided smile tilted the corner of Dazai's mouth and his brown eyes glistened with mischief, staring at Chuuya like he had all the time in the world. The look had his heart pounding and stomach erupting with butterflies. He willed both reactions to disappear.

"If you say so, chibi."

Clearing his throat, Chuuya walked up to the metal table and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the cool surface before settling his chin on his closed fist. He peeked up at Dazai from beneath his eyelashes. Before he could insult the man with a few choice things he wished to say, Dazai piped up.

"Do you want me to teach you how to bake something?"

"If you share the moscato recipe, does that mean I don't have to see your lanky ass again?" asked Chuuya, tilting his head to the side.

Dazai pulled the whisk out from the batter and waved it around, the motion light and airy. Chuuya was grateful the mixture remained glued to the metal wires.

"On the contrary," Dazai sighed with a flourish, his voice carrying a dreamy tone, "Chuuya will only fall deeper in love with me."

Frowning, Chuuya scrunched his nose. "You give yourself too much credit."

Another sly grin lit up the brunet's face. He leaned toward Chuuya, practically stretching across the table as he teased, "I don't hear you denying it."

Chuuya's mouth dropped open in a scoff. He straightened up and folded his arms over his chest and began drumming his fingers against the sleeves of his coat. He was was about to retort with a witty comeback that he truly didn't have when he was, yet again, cut off by Dazai.

"Well?" Dazai prodded, his eyebrow lifting in a challenge.

After the proposed question, Chuuya's fingers subconsciously twitched with the need to reach into his pocket and yank out the phone that was suddenly burning against his hip. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a couple of seconds, weighing the pros and cons that settled on a pro before a con even popped up in his mind. Placing his back to Dazai, Chuuya pulled out his phone and typed out a message.

 **[11:31 A.M.]** Is Atsushi-kun still there?

 **[11:32 A.M. Akutagawa]** _Yes._

 **[11:32 A.M.]** Can you manage the store without me for a little be longer?

 **[11:33 A.M. Akutagawa]** _Fine._

Putting away his cell, Chuuya glanced over his shoulder at the taller man smugly playing the role of omnipotent champion. Cocky bastard. Though he was slightly annoyed by the moment of defeat, Chuuya accepted it anyway. He turned around.

"Where can I hang my coat?"

* * *

Approximately three and a half hours and a "Sweet dreams, chibi" later, Chuuya strolled into the bookstore with various flavored cupcakes and scones. Much to his relief, the place was void of customers. If he hadn't been able to hear the light chatter of Akutagawa and his supposedly 'only just a friend', Atsushi, Chuuya would've believed the building was closed for the day.

He headed toward the counter. Slipping behind it, Chuuya put the blue box filled with desserts on top of it, then began removing his outerwear. As soon as he hung up his coat, a loud buzzing sound emanated from the clothing's pocket. Nakahara retrieved his phone and unlocked it, the bright screen highlighting the soft upturn of his lips.

 **[3:14 P.M. Mackerel]** _I'm bored._

The three gray dots wavering in front of Chuuya's blue eyes were followed by a question.

 **[3:14 P.M. Mackerel]** _What's Chuuya up to?_

 **[3:15 P.M.]** Ignoring you.

 **[3:15 P.M. Mackerel]** _Oh contraire, mon chou!_

Chuuya's brow furrowed and he frowned, a grimace playing at the corner of his mouth.

 **[3:16 P.M]** Has anyone ever told you how lame you are?

 **[3:17 P.M. Mackerel]** _A coworker of mine tends to tell me something along those lines a few times a day._

 **[3:17 P.M.]** Good. I'm not the only one who thinks you need a hobby.

 **[3:18 P.M. Mackerel]** _Annoying Chuuya is my hobby._

 **[3:18 P.M.]** Maybe you should take up reading instead of getting on my last nerve.

 **[3:18 P.M. Mackerel]** _Actually, I was reading a book about antigravity the other night._

 **[3:19 P.M. Mackerel]** _I couldn't put it down._

Biting back a laugh, Chuuya's thumbs tapped against the screen, flying from letter to letter.

 **[3:20 P.M.]** You're ridiculous.

 **[3:20 P.M. Mackerel]** _I know._

 **[3:21 P.M. Mackerel]** _But still better than anything Chuuya has to say._

A scowl appeared.

 **[3:21 P.M.]** You're a dick, too.

 **[3:21 P.M. Mackerel]** _I know._

 **[3:21 P.M.]** Maybe it's time I kick your ass to the curb.

 **[3:23 P.M. Mackerel]** _Landing in oncoming traffic sounds fun. Unless you have something more exciting to tell me._

Annoyed, Chuuya huffed out of the corner of his mouth, his warm breath blowing through his curls. He rolled his eyes to the side. They landed on the abandoned dessert box. The redhead crossed over to the counter, setting his phone on top of it before opening the blue container and eyeing its contents. After choosing a dark chocolate cupcake with red wine buttercream icing, Chuuya peeled away its black paper wrapper and took a small bite. Chuuya placed his free hand on the table and began tapping his fingers against its wooden surface.

As he slowly ate one of the cupcakes he helped make, the redhead mulled over the obvious challenge and cocky aura emanating behind his penpal's statement. With each bite, Nakahara weaved through the witty retorts he could spit out, the flirty comebacks he knew Mackerel would find more adorable than playful (which was a blow to his ego), and the fiery comments that were meant to put the man in his place, but would undoubtedly be flipped so Chuuya was left sputtering and pissed off.

Settling on a reply as he finished the last of the cupcake, Chuuya cleaned off his hands and tossed the wrapper and napkin away. He reached for his phone. Smirking, he opened up the messaging app, pressing on Mackerel's name.

 **[3:31 P.M.]** Camellia's.

 **[3:33 P.M. Mackerel]** _Oh, my. I didn't think you had it in you!_

 **[3:33 P.M. Mackerel]** _I'm soooo flattered. I knew you loved me._

"Tch." Figuratively throwing the absurd declaration out the front door, Chuuya quickly typed a question.

 **[3:34 P.M.]** Is that exciting enough for your shitty ass?

 **[3:34 P.M. Mackerel]** _How could it not be when Chuuya sweet talks me so?_

 **[3:34 P.M.]** Will you shut up?

 **[3:35 P.M. Mackerel]** _If I shut up, how can I tell Chuuya 8pm tonight sounds great?_

 **[3:35 P.M.]** Fine.

 **[3:35 P.M. Mackerel]** (⌒.−)

 **[3:35 P.M. Mackerel]** _Where will my petite mafia be?_

Ignoring the nickname, Chuuya entered in a swift reply.

 **[3:36 P.M.]** I usually sit at the bar.

 **[3:36 P.M. Mackerel]** _How will I know it's you?_

Chuuya took the time to proudly describe his fedora in more detail that was probably necessary, not giving a care to the world that he was practically boasting. Contrary to the unpopular opinions of various friends, it was a beautiful accessory and complimented his overall style.

After relaying his unbridled love, Chuuya hit the 'send' button. His response was instantaneous.

 **[3:38 P.M. Mackerel]** _Eh…_

 **[3:38 P.M.]** What?

 **[3:38 P.M. Mackerel]** _Your hat sounds horrific._

 **[3:38 P.M.]** Fuck you.

While he watched the three waving dots on the screen, Chuuya ran his tongue across the front of his teeth; it brushed over something wedged between his right canine and lateral incisor. Confused, he tossed the manners Kouyou engraved into his very being and picked at his teeth. He pulled out an oddly long string, meaty and squishy to the touch. Chuuya grabbed another napkin given to him by Dazai, paying no mind to the tiny crab drawn in black on one of its corners. Just as Chuuya threw the soiled napkin away, his phone vibrated.

* * *

Sliding up the stool and settling onto its leather cushion, Chuuya crossed his legs. He began to unconsciously bounce one, his propped up foot lightly tapping against the side of the bar, the vibrations from the movement traveling up his leg. Leaning forward, Nakahara placed his elbow on the long bar's surface. Once his chin was cupped in the palm of his gloved hand, Chuuya causally twisted around to peek over his shoulder. He scanned over the bustling room, taking in the numerous patrons eating and drinking at tables and weaving through crowded sections all the while searching for the person he was waiting for despite not having a clue as to what Mackerel looked like.

Preoccupied with his endeavor, Chuuya dimly heard a smooth scraping noise. He turned his attention back to the bar to find a tall empty wine glass standing before him. He glanced up, his eyes meeting the owner of Camellia's.

"Thank you, Hirotsu-san," he said. The redhead shifted in his seat, removing his elbow from the bar.

"There is no need, Chuuya-kun," Hirotsu insisted. He twisted toward the shelves housing various types of alcohol—including a choice selection of wine Chuuya couldn't help but pine for—and reached for the bottle the redhead regularly requested.

With a corkscrew in hand, the man popped open the black bottle, then poured the liquid into the glass. As Chuuya watched the dark red alcohol fill the glass, Hirotsu spoke, "You haven't stopped by for quite a while. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Chuuya answered. Arm outstretched, he pinched the long stem between his fingers and brought the wine up to his nose, inhaling its scent while he swirled the fluid around. Humming with satisfaction, he took a small sip. He savored the sweet and bitter taste before swallowing it down.

Chuuya gently put the glass down; it softly clicked against the hardwood bar. "I'm meeting a friend tonight."

Hirotsu made a soft sound of acknowledgement; amazingly, it was audible to the redhead's ears over the sound of the room's endless chatter. "A date?"

At the man's assumption, Chuuya was quite frankly shocked that the fragile wine glass cradled between his fingers hadn't cracked beneath the escalating pressure that found its way into his grip. He cleared his throat.

"It's not a date—just a meeting," Nakahara stated. He was proud that his voice had managed to cooperate in spite of his nerves.

A faint smirk lit up Hirotsu's refined features. "Well, I hope you enjoy your evening, date or not." He held out his hand, which Chuuya took. "Stop by again someday, Chuuya-kun."

"I will," promised Chuuya. After a final shake, Hirotsu let go of his hand. The older man bid him goodbye before strolling to the far end of the bar and disappearing through a back door.

Alone with this thoughts, Chuuya took another sip of wine. Over the rim of the glass his blue eyes flicked to the clock on the wall above the alcohol shelves, taking note of the time: it was eight o'clock. He downed the rest of his drink. Chuuya put the empty glass down and pushed it forward, silently beckoning for the bartender for a refill. Three minutes in the crowded building had passed before he was graced with a fresh drink. Another two had gone by before his gaze had wondered back to the clock.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Chuuya tapped his fingers against the thin stem, watching the red fluid ripple inside the glass. He took a sip. After putting his drink down, Nakahara retrieved his phone and woke up the screen; he was greeted with the time rather than a text from Mackerel informing him that the bastard would be fifteen minutes late. Chuuya willed away the little voice in the back of his mind whispering that he was being stood up.

Just as he was putting his phone back into his pocket, the noise of wood scraping against wood assaulted Chuuya's ears—a stool. Suddenly, the weight of his hat was whisked from his head. He blindly grabbed for it as he turned to the side. A scowl etched itself between Chuuya's eyebrows when his blue gaze found Dazai sitting next to him, wearing his fedora with a bright smile plastered on his face. His scowl darkened.

Humming, Dazai placed an elbow on the bar, placing his cheek against the back of his hand. He stared at Chuuya, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. The condescending look sent alarm bells ringing in Chuuya's ears.

"What're you doing here?" Nakahara asked, reaching for his hat and ripping it from the top of the other's head; brown strands of hair trailed behind the rapid movement.

"I've come to see Chuuya of course," Dazai answered. Using his free hand, he held out a finger and tapped the redhead's nose; Chuuya immediately batted it away as well as the tension coiling in his gut.

"How the hell did you know I'd be here?"

Dazai said nothing. He simply watched Chuuya watching him. A heartbeat later, the brunet heaved a dramatic sigh. He swiveled in his seat to face Chuuya.

"Do you remember the first joke I told you, hat rack?"

"Does knocking me over in the rain count as one?"

"Aww," Dazai cooed, "I knew you were paying attention to me! I hope it wasn't because of my good looks though."

"Oh, shut up and answer me, you prick."

Tilting his head to the side, Dazai's smile widened into a playful smirk. "It looks like a train just went by. You can see its track."

Nakahara jerked backward. "What?"

"C'mon!" Dazai exclaimed with a roll of his eyes. "Do I really have to spell it out, Chuuya?"

Chuuya flexed his hands. A part of him knew the answer, but the stubborn denial bubbling in his chest drowned out what he had suspected, and had even desperately hoped for, all along. "You can do that, or I can send my fist down your throat—your choice."

"Hmm," Dazai hummed, tapping his chin in consideration. "That sounds appealing, but painful, so no can do."

Without another word that would most definitely piss Chuuya off and send him flying across the room, Dazai pulled out his phone from the pocket of his tan trench coat. He held it up to Chuuya; a bright light flashed in his eyes.

A low growl rumbled in Nakahara's throat. He inhaled, then exhaled a ragged breath through his nose. While he was busy rapidly blinking the stars from his vision, his phone vibrated. He didn't look at it.

"Did you do this to fuck with me?" Chuuya hissed through clenched teeth. Fuming, he registered the tips of his fingers digging into his palms.

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," scoffed Chuuya, waving one hand at nothing in particular. "Maybe this is your idea of some twisted joke."

Dazai's eyebrows shot up. He folded a bandaged arm over his chest, then relaxed against the stool's back. "Why would I joke about this?"

The offending question sent Chuuya's pulse spiking and his white knuckled fists cracking with the embarrassment heightening with each passing second. Clearing the emotion away, he mused, "I've been talking to your suicidal ass this whole time."

Brown eyes rolled before landing on Chuuya. Dazai flashed the grin that usually sent butterflies fluttering in Chuuya's stomach, but at the moment, the luminous smirk was a blow to the gut.

" _Obviously_. Who else would it be, chibi?"


End file.
